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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672282">The Sound of War</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin'>thevalesofanduin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Getting Together, Jaskier-Centric, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Minor Violence, Post-Season/Series 01, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Spy Jaskier | Dandelion, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:40:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier heads to the coast, heads home.</p><p>But not before stopping at Oxenfurt for the winter, because a season of teaching and rekindling with old friends is sure to take his mind off of Geralt. He hears whispers, in the marble halls of Oxenfurt, of impending war. But with his heartbreak still feeling more like an open wound than a scab, he pays them little heed.</p><p>It’s not his war to fight.</p><p>Or is it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>434</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys, I’m SO excited about this fic! Normally my main plot is emotions, like they carry my stories but here there is actually a fair bit of plot as well. It’s a fic about war and Jaskier will be a real BAMF (maybe not yet in chapter 1, but hey we gotta start somewhere, right?)... </p><p> <a href="https://thevalesofanduin.tumblr.com/">Come say hi on Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier heads to the coast.</p><p>He clambers down the mountain, alone and on shaking legs and he supposes it's life's blessing to <em>him</em> that he doesn't tumble over the edge of a ravine—even if he wishes that he would, at times.</p><p>But dying here or now won't be any good. There is more to his life than Geralt of fucking Rivia, even if the tears in his eyes and the emptiness in his chest make it seem otherwise. </p><p>Heartbreak is only a temporary affliction, he tells himself.</p><p>It takes him two days to reach the first hamlet—or maybe it is four days, time is a bit iffy at the moment with the daze of heartbreak in his head and the listlessness of a life wasted on an unrequited love dragging his feet. He buys himself bread with the last of his coin and then he is on his way again. He won't stop here, at the first sign of civilization off of that damned mountain, because he is certain everyone else will.</p><p>He trudges along with heavy feet and an even heavier heart until he reaches Yspaden. It’s big enough a city he is unlikely to run into anyone he knows and he’ll admit that he is desperate for any horrible bed and watered down stew that’s sure to be on offer here.</p><p>He finds the workers’ quarters of the city, for he loves the enthusiasm the working-class crowd has for a bard that keeps the tavern from breaking out into a brawl. It took him traveling the Continent to realize that because they don’t have the means to allow themselves luxuries, that the adventures in a bard’s song is the only luxury they are able to afford. So while he might make more coin playing at the events of the upper-class, he much prefers kindness over riches.</p><p>Especially now.</p><p>Because while he might not be able to comfort himself, at least he is able to comfort others. For now, that’ll have to be enough.</p><p>He doesn’t expect to freeze in the doorway of the tavern, though. Reminded all of a sudden that the last time—the last dozen times, at least—he’s been in one has been with Geralt.</p><p>Sharing food, rooms, even beds. Surely if that isn’t friendship—<em>love</em>—than at least it is some sort of comradery?</p><p>
  <em>If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!</em>
</p><p>The words echo through his head in the places where it used to be melodies of songs waiting to be sung. And perhaps for the first time since being thrown away like a dirty rag that’s done its job he feels something other than all-consuming numbness.</p><p>Here, in the doorway of a tavern his feelings finally catch up with him and he’s overcome by an onslaught of emotions brought on as sudden as a Summer’s storm—and just as vicious. For suddenly, his broken heart feels too heavy in his chest and heartache rolls through him like rumbling thunder. He feels the tears, like rain, prickling his eyes and almost in a panic he wonders if <em>this</em> is the place he will break down because he can’t stop himself. Can’t stop <em>feeling</em> and if someone would just—</p><p>A harsh shoulder connects with his, making him stumble forward. He catches himself—only just—and blinks once, twice, thrice to get the tears out of his eyes. His heart still feels like it’s about to burst and his hands still shake but at least he’s not about to break out into tears anymore.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>He turns to find a burly man looking at him with an apologetic gleam in his eyes. “Didn’t see ya there,” he offers.</p><p>“Ah, no I offer you <em>my</em> apologies dear Sir,” Jaskier says and waves his hand in the air, to distract from the fact his words are strained and his voice trembles just the tiniest bit around the edges. “I shouldn’t have been lingering in the doorway as I was.”</p><p>The man frowns for a moment at the assault of words and then he seems to catch sight of Jaskier’s lute. “Are you a bard?” he asks and enthusiasm is clear in his voice.</p><p>While normally, Jaskier would share the enthusiasm now he can’t bring himself to care. <em>No, I’m a fool </em>he wants to say. For if he’d been a true bard surely he would have realized that his story is not a romance. But it had taken him—the fool—twenty-two years and harsh, cutting words to see it for the tragedy it truly is.</p><p>Or a comedy, but he supposes that depends on the spectator.</p><p>But instead he manages to pull himself together, puts on a showy smile and promises he’s not <em>just any bard</em>.</p><p>He gets himself a room, a free bowl of stew and has the whole tavern hollering along to <em>toss a coin</em> only fifteen minutes after he starts playing.</p><p>No-one needs to know he spends the night crying in his pillow.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He’s slowly followed the coastline down south for a month when he finally admits to himself that some tranquil waves and salty air aren’t going to carry his heartache with them and away from him. That no amount of autumn sun on his head and sand between his toes is going to replace the heaviness he now carries in his chest.</p><p>Heartbreak, he’s found, is not a linear thing. Granted, he’s quite certain he’s past the lowest point for he can’t believe it gets any worse than falling down to his knees and sobbing tears of devastation at the first sight of the ocean. Since then, he’s had bad and not-quite-as-bad days. No day is truly <em>good</em>, for he still wakes up and goes to sleep thinking of and missing Geralt, his heart crying where his tears have stopped.</p><p>Every song he sings and melody he plays is a lament and while it is therapeutic it is also a constant reminder of his devastating predicament. To truly move on, he needs something to take his mind off of Geralt and traveling on his own simply isn’t going to do that.</p><p>So when one morning he wakes to see dolphins surfing the waves and his first instinct is to <em>tell Geralt</em> he decides it’s perhaps for the best if he stops at Oxenfurt before going to Lettenhove.</p><p>Winter is coming after all, and a season spent with old friends roaming familiar corridors and perhaps teaching some guest classes are sure to take his mind off of Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It’s the end of Autumn when he arrives at Oxenfurt and finds he’s only partly right in his assumption it’ll take his mind off of Geralt. For everyone knows who he is and even more so, everyone is aware who he is known to travel with.</p><p>It is not just old professors that used to teach Jaskier—who by now are well past retirement age but who refuse to stop teaching—and the younger teachers who used to study together with Jaskier. No, it’s also those who he didn’t study with and even students themselves that know and <em>everyone</em> has questions.</p><p>Questions they feel free to ask him. It <em>is</em> the Liberal Arts after all, and that doesn’t just apply to the subjects studied at the Academy.</p><p>But Jaskier is nothing if not eloquent and he easily weaves a tale of not wanting to spend yet another winter sleeping out in the cold and missing the luxuries of Oxenfurt. Everyone gobbles it up easily as Jaskier tells his story with a wide grin to cover up his broken heart.</p><p>And so gossip spreads, as it always does and after a few days the whole of Oxenfurt seems to know Jaskier’s story. It allows him to pretend all is fine even if it really, <em>really</em> isn’t.</p><p>But that, no-one needs to know and it are only the walls of his rooms that bear witness to his grief and his continuous attempt to piece his heart back together through sad ballads and sheer will.</p><p>Well, his bedroom walls <em>and </em>Ellen Daven, it seems. </p><p>She finds him drinking in a lone corner four days after his arrival, hiding from sight because tonight Jaskier doesn’t want to tell stories of his travels with the White Wolf.</p><p>She slides onto the booth with him and bumps her shoulder against his with a fond smile. "If it isn't Julian Pankratz, returned to Oxenfurt at least."</p><p>"Ellen,” he greets her with a soft smile of his own and his heart aches at seeing a familiar face. She’s not Essi, but he’s still fond of his best friend’s older sister and hers is the only presence he’ll entertain tonight. “How have you been?”</p><p>“Well enough. Even if teaching here sometimes makes me want to pull my hair out," Ellen says with a chuckle, although they both know she loves teaching. "And you? What brings you back here?”</p><p>Jaskier almost winces at hearing the familiar question again. But from Ellen, he appreciates it. For she must've heard the rumors—as all gossip eventually reaches Ellen Daven—and decided to check whether it's true.</p><p>Jaskier just isn't certain if <em>he</em> is ready to tell the truth.</p><p>“Winter,” he says, because it's not <em>really </em>a lie and trying to be funny is better than melancholic. But his attempted joke falls terribly flat now that he’s talking to someone who actually knows him beyond just his name.</p><p>Ellen regards him silently for a moment. Then she seems to come to a decision as she hums and brushes a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind her ear. “And you will join your Witcher again come Spring?” she asks and while her tone is light and almost curious, the look in her eyes clearly says she hasn’t fallen for his excuse.</p><p>Jaskier sighs, deep and long as if he’s trying to push out all of his heartache. He stares into his unfortunately empty cup and for a moment the world disappears around him. Because he <em>knows</em> he won’t join Geralt on his Path after the Winter. He knows, for he’s well past lying to himself—he’s done that long enough. But there is a vast difference between knowing something, even deep down in your soul, and actually saying it out loud.</p><p>Making it real.</p><p>“No,” he whispers, the word like sawdust in his mouth and it trembles as much as his fingers do around his cup. For a moment he feels as if he can’t breathe, cotton in his chest and stones in his stomach and the rest of his body numb as the one word echoes through his mind and empty heart.</p><p>
  <em>No, no, no</em>
</p><p>It’s Ellen’s soft “oh Jaskier,” that pulls him back to reality.</p><p>He glances at her, expecting pity but all he sees is a sad understanding. He supposes, heartbreak is something everyone understands.</p><p>Ellen doesn’t speak, there’s no words she can offer Jaskier that’ll make him feel better, but she does slide closer to him and pulls him against her side.</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t know how long they sit in the dark corner of an otherwise bustling tavern. But he does know that Ellen’s hand around his shoulder is a comfort, the vodka she orders an escape and the fact she pretends not to see the tears in his eyes a kindness he didn't know he so desperately needed.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Life at Oxenfurt is easy, if a tad boring compared to traveling the Continent with a Witcher.</p><p>But boring is good, boring is different because it is the opposite of the life Jaskier’s been living for the past two decades. In a nutshell, boring is not going to remind him of Geralt at every inn he plays at or every camp he now has to set on his own.</p><p>Right now, boring is a safe environment to heal.</p><p>It’s a routine. A life full of teaching, composing and hanging out with friends and acquaintances in taverns drinking more than they should and holding mock-competitions to test their skills and have a good laugh at the same time.</p><p>Traveling, he’d almost forgotten how much fun those nights had always been and here at Oxenfurt, he knows he doesn’t have to spend a single evening by his lonesome self if he doesn’t wish to. For here, there are always people out and about, enjoying drinks or song or both and always willing to let another join them.</p><p>But not all is perfection and tranquility in the marble halls of Oxenfurt. It never has been, of course, but it doesn’t take long for Jaskier to notice a heaviness in the air. A cautiousness to some of the more subdued, quiet whispers going around. Most reach his ears, of course. He makes certain that they do but the more he hears, the more they worry him.</p><p>Nilfgaard is up to something, and rumor has it that this something is war.</p><p>His curiosity getting the best of him, he brings it up to Ellen on their next weekly outing.</p><p>“Have you heard the rumors about Nilfgaard?” he asks bluntly. They are in his rooms tonight, as per his request, so he knows he doesn’t need to whisper or sugar-coat things to appease a stray listening ear.</p><p>Ellen grimaces and takes a big gulp of her wine before she says: “if that is tonight’s topic I hope you have something stronger than this around.”</p><p>Jaskier stands to retrieve a bottle of vodka and two small glasses from one of the shelves. “I take that as a yes.”</p><p>“You’d have to be deaf to not have heard.”</p><p>“You think they’re true?” Jaskier asks, as he sits down and fills a glass of vodka for each of them.</p><p>Ellen takes the glass, swirls the clear liquid around in it for a moment and then, without any doubt, says: “I do.”</p><p>Jaskier hums and, because he’s not Geralt and can actually use his vocabulary, adds: “suppose if it were just one you could argue it, but it’s <em>everywhere</em>.”</p><p>“It is,” Ellen nods but then she shrugs, waving a hand in the air with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know too much about it, though. I’m more worried about Essi at the moment.”</p><p>The mention of his best friend has Jaskier frowning. He knows Essi is prone to get herself into trouble, it’s why they get along so well. But for Ellen to actually express worry somehow feels different. “What did Essi get herself into?"</p><p>"I’m not sure.” Ellen takes a large sip of her vodka and raises her eyes to Jaskier. “She doesn’t write as much as she used to, and with the war looming... I fear she might have gotten herself into something.”</p><p>For a moment, Jaskier wonders what Essi could’ve gotten herself into. Last he heard, she was in Cintra but that was before the whole mountain debacle. She had written she’d stay a while, but he can’t be certain if she’s still there or if she’s moved on to another place by now. Certainly, any trouble she’s gotten herself into isn’t related to a war that’s not even happening at the moment. “Essi might get in trouble every now and then but that’s mostly with scorned lovers.”</p><p>Ellen huffs. “I suppose you’re right,” she says and finishes her drink with slightly more relaxed shoulders. “I just worry.”</p><p>“Trust me, knowing Essi the worst she’s getting herself into is heartbreak,” he says, giving Ellen a re-assuring smile even if his own heart seems to clench in his chest at the reminder of his own heartbreak.</p><p>Ellen gives Jaskier a small smile in return and reaches for the bottle of vodka to refill her now empty glass. “I hope so.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The new year rolls around with a big party.</p><p>When the clock strikes midnight, Jaskier vows to leave the remains of his heartache behind in the old year.</p><p>He’s not certain it will work, you can’t just tell your emotions to stay away. But it’s getting easier every week and if he just tells himself often enough that Geralt of Rivia is a thing of the past—as are the emotions attached to him—he might just start believing it.</p><p>That doesn’t stop him from getting completely and utterly drunk and he spends the first day of his new, reborn year puking his guts out and feeling overall very terrible for himself. But, despite his whining to no-one but himself, he lives and the next day he’s back to giving lectures.</p><p>He finds that he quite enjoys teaching. It’s not something he’ll ever permanently do for his patience isn’t <em>that</em> great. But for a few months, it’s a delight to share his knowledge with eager students that seem to soak it all up like sponges. Most of them, anyway.</p><p>Some struggle a bit more and they usually linger at the end of class to ask additional questions which Jaskier happily answers.</p><p>But one day, the hall empties faster than usual. Everyone scurrying out in a rush making Jaskier wonder what’s going on. It all makes sense, though, when he looks up towards the back of the lecture hall, where only one person remains.</p><p>Sigismund Dijkstra, head of the Redanian Secret Service.</p><p><em>Well,</em> Jaskier thinks and resists the urge to either sigh or scream, <em>fuck me sideways</em>.</p><p>He watches the imposing figure of a man stand up and walk down the stairs of the lecture hall, steps slow and deliberate almost as if he’s showing off.</p><p>Jaskier isn’t sure if it’s a good idea to make the man go through the effort to come to him, but he needs the time to think. Come up with a plan of attack while at the same time trying to think what the fuck the man could possibly want from him.</p><p>In the end, he says: "I hope you weren't attempting to be subtle Sigismund." It’s not flippant, per say. Overly familiar, perhaps and a jest for sure. Because Jaskier isn’t scared of the likes of Dijkstra—and he really hopes he shouldn’t be.</p><p>Dijkstra comes to a halt in front of the little teacher stand, spreads his arms wide and with amusement in his voice offers: "Whatever do you mean? I've always wanted to learn about the finer details on how to get the most out of ones lute.”</p><p>Jaskier snorts. “For the head of the Secret Service, that’s a terribly lie.”</p><p>Dijkstra’s eyes twinkle at those words and he places his arms onto the stand, leaning heavily onto it and bending his body towards Jaskier. “You would know,” he gives a small nod and continues, lips curving up in the tiniest of smirks: “you’re terribly good at it after all. Lying.”</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“It’s only because of my own sources that I know that Witcher of yours sent you away,” Dijkstra says, pauses for a moment to let the words hang in the air.</p><p>To let them sting Jaskier, stab him right through the heart and he can only stand rooted to the ground. No reply is on his tongue, no defense.</p><p>He’s not sure what exactly the intention of the other’s words were, but <em>fuck</em> they hurt.</p><p>“I’ll admit I was sorry to hear the news, after twenty-two years of devotion… you deserve more respect than that, Julian.” Dijkstra continues and he sounds sorry, sounds sincere but Jaskier isn’t stupid.</p><p>He might be hurting but he guesses that that is exactly what Dijkstra wants. Because he’s trying to drag him into a game he doesn’t want to play.</p><p>Jaskier narrows his eyes at the man and demands: “What do you want from me?”</p><p>Dijkstra raises his hands. “Ah, my apologies. I meant no offence, truly. In fact, I meant it as a compliment. The skill to weave lies so easily <em>and</em> such loyalty… the Service could use that.”</p><p>There’s an offer in those words and Jaskier feels like kicking himself.</p><p>He could’ve known that this is what the Redanian Secret Service would want from him.</p><p>A spy.</p><p>He resists the urge to laugh at <em>that</em> joke. "I'm a bard, Sigismund."</p><p>"One with ears and eyes, no?" Dijkstra counters easily.</p><p>"Ears and eyes of my own." Jaskier’s statement is firm, and although he’s certain the other wouldn’t dare hurt him here, he’s still grateful for the desk between them.</p><p>Dijkstra shakes his head. "War is upon us, it’s for the best that you realize that as soon as possible. I’m offering you the chance to protect those dear to you.”</p><p>For a short, short moment Jaskier considers it. Traveling, singing in taverns he would be good at being a spy. He could pick up rumors from a dark, dingey corner of the local watering hole as easily as he could from the banquet tables in the dining halls of the rich. But to be a spy, in a upcoming war that so far is nothing but a rumor?</p><p>
  <em>Don’t get involved.</em>
</p><p>Unbidden, Geralt’s words come to mind. And while Geralt might not have followed his own words of advice very well, Jaskier decides in that moment that he will.</p><p>“Like I said, I'm a bard, not a spy. This isn't my war."</p><p>Dijkstra sighs in resignation. “All right,” he says and as he’s on his way out of the lecture hall, he offers Jaskier some parting words: "But just keep in mind, this will be everyone's war."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>By the time February rolls around, Jaskier is getting restless.</p><p>Suddenly, boring and routine aren’t a safe environment anymore. For now that the novelty of it has worn off and routine becomes a true, automatic routine all it provides is too much time to think.</p><p>It’s never any good when his thoughts can run amok, especially when he’s running away from something. And he is, isn’t he? He can pretend he’s at Oxenfurt to teach and see old friends but that doesn’t change the truth.</p><p>So now he finds that marble halls remind him only of what he doesn’t have anymore. Evenings spent drinking and singing in taverns leave an emptiness inside his chest because while it’s company, it’s not the right one.</p><p>It’s not Geralt.</p><p>It’s not that he feels that the past two decades of his life were wasted. All the travelling, all the adventures and all the time he <em>did</em> get to spend with Geralt… He just knows he’ll look back on those years with fondness. Not now, perhaps. But someday he will.</p><p>For now, thinking of time spent with Geralt just hurts because it reminds Jaskier of how much he misses him.</p><p>He thinks that, perhaps, it’s time to move on. Find comfort in Lettenhove, because he might not have Geralt at least he has his family.</p><p>Having made up his mind, Jaskier prepares to leave. Three weeks, the tells everyone. Because that’s when the last of his lectures finishes.</p><p>A few days after his decision, news about the battle of Marnadal reaches Oxenfurt.</p><p>A shocked hush falls over the university and when Jaskier hears it, he mourns. He gets drunk alone in his room, toasts the memory of Eist Tuirseach and prays to Melitele that at least Cintra will stand, that little Ciri stays safe. For Geralt might not have cared about his Child Surprise, Jaskier has done him the unasked and unknown service of keeping an eye on her. Playing at birthday banquets, first for Pavetta and then for Ciri herself, provided the ideal opportunity to make sure the little girl was growing up in what would one day be a fine young lady. Because even at twelve, Ciri was smart and sharp. Just like her mother and grandmother.</p><p>He hopes that now, at least, Geralt will honor destiny and seek to protect the Lion Cub of Cintra.</p><p>But it is not the end of the bad news.</p><p>Not a week later, they hear that Cintra has fallen at the hands of Nilfgaard. Although, if Jaskier is to believe the rumors, slaughter is a better fitting word.</p><p>He thinks of Dijkstra’s words as heartache makes way for a cold worry that seems to settle deep within him.</p><p>
  <em>This will be everyone’s war</em>
</p><p>Jaskier thinks of Cintra, of the fact he hasn’t heard Ciri <em>hasn’t</em> made it, thinks of Essi who’d written she was in Cintra and he hopes. Hopes that no news of Ciri’s demise must mean she made it out, hopes Essi got bored months before and moved on to other pastures.</p><p>And above all, he hopes Dijkstra is wrong.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He departs from Oxenfurt early one foggy morning, with only Ellen there to wish him goodbye.</p><p>“Be careful out there, okay?” she says as she hugs him close to her chest, her voice soft and her hands trembling.</p><p>Jaskier wonders if she’s got Essi on her mind, projecting her worry about her little sister onto Jaskier now that she’s got to wave him off.</p><p>He wouldn’t be surprised.</p><p>It is his own family he is rushing to see, after all.</p><p>He will admit that the prospect of war has gotten more realistic than he’d ever dared think. With Cintra fallen and a barrage of messages and rumors flying through Oxenfurt it’s dawned upon everyone that this might just be as bad as it seems.</p><p>So Jaskier rushes to reach his childhood home, even if he isn’t sure what anyone would want in Kerack, let alone their hamlet of Lettenhove—his father would disagree, but if a duck is a duck when it looks, swims and quacks like it then Lettenhove is most certainly a hamlet. But even if he can't imagine what anyone would want in their tiny coastal town, there is a dark worry rolling in his gut. A persistent trepidation flowing through his veins that pushes him to travel through thick forests and windy beaches at a pace that would most likely even impress Geralt.</p><p>All the while he tells himself that it’s just a precaution, this pace of travel. For they are fine, his family.</p><p>They are safe.</p><p>They have to be.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He finds devastation.</p><p>He finds destruction.</p><p>He finds what happens to a town when war comes knocking on the door at midnight, unannounced and unexpected.</p><p>But even if it had been known, even if they had been prepared Jaskier knows that war finding Lettenhove would have always led to this. There’d only ever been a dozen or so that could wield a sword—he himself included in that number—and as he walks through what once was his hometown, he prays that at least most of them managed to flee.</p><p>He looks as much as the ghost that the whole town has now become. His skin pale, his hands trembling as he walks slowly, numbly. One step in front of the other, passing by the collapsed tavern where he learned to play his lute. The baker, whose pastries were Jaskier’s treats on special days, and the house of the farmer, whose daughter was the first girl Jaskier had ever kissed.</p><p>So many memories, so many feelings swirl through him, so much devastation growing in his heart and grief weighing his mind that by the time he reaches the Pankratz mansion, fear has made its home inside his body. A numbing terror at the thought of what he might find within the walls of his childhood home.</p><p>But the numbness doesn’t stop his heart from beating loudly in his chest, the sound almost deafening in his own ears, as he pushes open the front door with a slightly trembling hand.</p><p>The door creaks as it opens. It feels like an eternity before Jaskier can see into the hallway and his breath is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, static in his ears and lead in his limbs because what if, what if, <em>what if–</em></p><p>A shuddering breath fills the air as Jaskier’s knees buckle under him, sending him to the ground with a dull thud.</p><p>The hallway is empty.</p><p>There is no blood on the walls, no corpses on the marble floor—<em>thank Melitele.</em></p><p>He drags himself up from the ground and enters the house.</p><p>“Hello?” he calls and despite the softness of his voice it seems to echo off the walls, up the stairs and through the emptiness of the mansion.</p><p>He briefly closes his eyes and is brought back to all the times he’s visited during his years traveling the Continent as bard. <em>Julian</em>, he hears his mother’s delighted voice and her quick steps tapping against the floor as she rushes to envelop him in her embrace, nearly suffocating him while his father stands chuckling in the doorway of his study. If he listens closely enough, he can almost hear a door slamming open upstairs as Josephine comes rushing down, a grin on her face as she jokes that they’ll have those damned sweet potatoes again now that he is here. Those sweet potatoes, his favorite, he can almost taste them. Can almost smell his mother’s perfume, feel his father’s beard against the side of his head, hear Josephine’s laughs that always remind him of a happy, snorting pig.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>But they aren’t there, his family.</p><p>Not in the hallway, nor in any other ransacked room that Jaskier enters. For the house is empty, save a lifetime of once happy memories. A relief and a curse all in one.</p><p>At the top of the stairs, Jaskier turns to look out of the floor-to-ceiling window that offers a view of Lettenhove. He remembers standing here as a kid, watching the bustling town laid out in front of the mansion and dreaming of exploring far beyond its borders.</p><p>He’s gotten just that, right until this moment where he wishes for nothing more than to be embraced by the simplicity of life in Lettenhove again. With its farmers, bakers and butchers and tiny tavern where everyone knows each other.</p><p>Small, unimportant and innocent Lettenhove which didn’t deserve this fate.</p><p>But war doesn’t care who its victims are and here, watching over the town that loved a little viscount boy that wanted to be a bard, Jaskier knows there are many who have fallen victim.</p><p>For the fact he hasn’t seen the dead, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. In the ransacked town, under rubble, in stables and around corners where Jaskier hasn’t looked—where he won’t look.</p><p>He stands watching the destruction until the sun has long set, his cheeks wet with tears and thinking he should sing in remembrance and honor of those who lost their lives, to the homes they—he—lost.</p><p>But his music feels lost to him.</p><p>So he just stands, feeling emptier and emptier until his body, mind and soul feel exhausted and he’s forced to turn away.</p><p>He beds down in front of a small fire he lights in the fireplace in the dining hall.</p><p>Next to the family heirloom display cabinet that used to hold their fine china.</p><p>The fine china that they ate from during birthdays and other celebrations when Jaskier was younger, and which his mother made sure was on the table whenever he visited when he was older for whenever he did, that <em>was</em> the celebration. The fine china with its hand-painted dandelions circling the edges like the flower crowns his sister used to weave. The <em>fragile </em>fine china, that now lays on the cold floor, in shatters. Never to be used or put back together again after being destroyed by this dredged war.</p><p>The thought of the lives ruined—his family’s lives ruined—by this war haunts him throughout the night, the fire unable to offer him any comfort or warmth and the light of the flames doesn’t keep the nightmares away.</p><p>And so he sleeps alone and cold in the ruins of his childhood home. Dreaming of a burning town echoing with tormented screams. When he wakes, his cheeks are wet with tears and the blanket covering him feels like a layer of ashes.</p><p>He leaves Lettenhove that morning, feeling as broken as the china and unsure if he will ever return, for his home is no more.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He starts a desperate search for his family.</p><p>It takes many questions in dingy taverns offering more favors than he’d like but eventually, he finds them at the edge of a refugee camp just outside the walls of Vizima. They’re in rags that hang from bony figures, with sunken cheeks, pale skin and eyes that seem forever dimmed by the cruelty of war.</p><p>His parents.</p><p>He stumbles into their arms. His father’s hands tremble against his shoulder and his mother’s thin frame shakes as she cries tears of relief. And Jaskier closes his own eyes, lets his tears drip down his cheeks and he’s relieved, <em>so</em> relieved and he won’t let himself think how old and fragile his parents have gotten.</p><p>It doesn’t matter.</p><p>They are alive.</p><p>The reunion, however, is bittersweet.</p><p>Especially when Jaskier sees his parents’ new home.</p><p>“It’s not much,” his mother says with an almost apologetic wave around the small tent that barely fits the three of them. “But we’re grateful for all we can get.”</p><p>His mother looks out of place more than his father does. He’s always taken after her more, her free spirit and loving personality, her brightly colored dresses. All of which she has lost and Jaskier would fight Destiny itself to give his parents back their home, their comforts and their spark.</p><p>But all he can offer them is a tight smile and the promise that “I’ve slept in way worse conditions, ma. I’m just happy you’re both safe.”</p><p>His mother gives him a soft smile before she starts fussing about where Jaskier is going to sleep and then about what they are going to eat for dinner.</p><p>Jaskier has questions, so many questions, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask them.</p><p>At least, not until later that evening when is mother attempting to sow in front of a fire with the light quickly fading on the horizon and he’s sat next to his father on the other side.</p><p>It’s a good thing he’s sitting next to his father, he thinks. He’s had a dreadful feeling in his gut all afternoon and he doesn’t want to actually ask the question because he’s fearful of the answer he might receive.</p><p>But he <em>has</em> to know.</p><p>So he lowers his voice, hopes it’s soft enough so his mother won’t hear it over the noise all around them and the crackling fire in front of them, and dares to ask his father: “what happened?”</p><p>His father sighs, deep and long and full of sorrow. His father’s voice has always been steady and comforting, the voice of a strong man with a gentle heart. But now it wavers, a mere whisper as his father tries to hold it together as he speaks of how Nilfgaard invaded in the dead of night. How they only barely managed to run down the stairs, out the patio doors and through the gardens all the way down to the wide steps of the dock, to their little rowing boat. How they saw only a few other families had had the same idea as them, to flee to their boats. How they drifted at sea, cold and wet and crying until they were enough of a distance away that they dared to set foot ashore again.</p><p>Jaskier listens in utter silence, his hands clenched into fists and he bites his lip in an attempt to keep himself from crying at it all.</p><p>But his main question hasn’t been answered by what his father’s told him and the dark, foreboding feeling in his gut has only gotten worse. For he hasn’t heard a single word about her yet.</p><p>His little sister.</p><p>“And Josephine?” he asks, a mere whisper he wonders his father even hears.</p><p>But his father has heard. Freezes on the log next to him and when Jaskier dares to glance he sees his father’s face set in a heartbroken frown, skin as pale as a sheet and eyes brimmed with tears. “Nilfgaard, they shot–” his father starts and breaks off with a sob disguised as a shuddered breath. He swallows and looks up into the flame as he brokenly whispers: “arrows.”</p><p>
  <em>Her</em>
</p><p>The unspoken word hangs heavy in the air.</p><p>In his chest, Jaskier is certain he can feel his already shattered heart breaking into more little pieces.</p><p>Sweet Josephine, his little sister… <em>dead</em>.</p><p>A mournful cry leaves his lips and he sobs, his whole body trembling under the onslaught of his anguish. He’s pulled against his father’s chest and just like when he was a little boy and their pet dog Rosie had passed away, he clenches fists in his father’s tunic and cries bitter, broken tears.</p><p>Only this time, his father is crying too.</p><p>On the other side of the fire, his mother has her face buried in the shirt she was mending.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The longer Jaskier spends with his parents at the refugee camp, the angrier he becomes.</p><p>By now, his heartbreak—Geralt—is nothing more than background noise. It’s there, but barely noticeable as Jaskier’s entire being has been taken over by the grief and devastation of having lost his sister, of having lost Lettenhove. It’s an encompassing feeling, like he’s in a cocoon of bubbling anger just waiting to burst free and release all those dark feelings onto the world.</p><p>It starts as thoughts of injustice, how all these people here in the refugee camp are <em>innocent</em>. How all those who have died are innocent, because farmers and innkeepers and all others who were just trying to make their lives work certainly didn’t deserve to die gruesome deaths at the hands of soldiers.</p><p>From there, it grows and grows until it feels like Jaskier’s whole body is buzzing with anger. Anger at Nilfgaard, at this war, at the world, for how can no-one care?</p><p>He tries to reign in his anger. But when there is nothing to do but walk around the camp and entertain the little ones with funny songs and comfort their parents with ballads promising better times ahead, it’s hard not to feel any sort of outrage at the situation.</p><p>That, and helplessness.</p><p>It isn’t until his mother is in one of her darker moods, sitting in front of the fire and staring at it with unseeing eyes as she whispers “if only we could’ve done something,” to herself that Jaskier has a revelation.</p><p>Or rather, his memory seems to work again.</p><p>
  <em>This will be everyone’s war</em>
</p><p>Dijkstra’s foreboding words seem to ring in his ears, like a precognition. A foreshadowing which Jaskier had laughed off, ignored in favor of dwelling on his own heartbreak and now he finds himself sitting in the exact outcome of Dijkstra’s words.</p><p>But he also remembers the offer, the chance to <em>protect those dear to him</em> as Dijkstra had said. An offer to help influence the future.</p><p>Looking at his devastated parents, all the devastated people around him, thinking of Josephine, of Essi and Ciri, he wishes that it was the past he could change instead. But he’s no mage and even if he was he doubts <em>that</em> particular thing is within the realm of possibilities.</p><p>So he thinks that he will, instead, have to settle on influencing the future. Prevent things from getting any worse than they already are and the anger in his chest <em>ignites</em> at the thought of getting to pay back Nilfgaard while he’s at it.</p><p>That night, Jaskier doesn’t sleep as the magnitude of his decision dawns on him.</p><p>Leaving behind his parents to go fight in a war.</p><p>There is a warning, gruff voice at the back of his mind that sounds a lot like Geralt which says to <em>not get involved</em>.</p><p>He’d listened to it in Oxenfurt and he’s grateful for it, because that’s why he now finds himself here, was able to see his parents. But he also knows that now, the words simply don’t hold true anymore.</p><p>He <em>is</em> involved already, even if he didn’t chose to be. So now that he’s right in the middle of this war, he will stand up and do something. He’s never been one to watch from the sidelines at a safe distance, after all.</p><p>The next day, he spends as much time with his parents as he can. He goes around camp one last time, singing his songs and remembering all the faces that light up as he passes, if only temporarily.</p><p>“I love you, you know that right?” he tells his parents as they all prepare for bed.</p><p>“Julian?” his mother says his name carefully with a frown in reply, looking worried. “Is everything all right?”</p><p>“All fine,” he lies with a smile—his first of many more to follow.</p><p>That night, under the cover of darkness as the camp has descended into sleep, Jaskier slips away without saying goodbye, leaving only a small note on his pillow behind.</p><p>For some things a man simply must do, and they are often the things he doesn't tell his parents.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The last sentence of the first chapter has haunted me for years. Neil Shea wrote it in this <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2016/03/kurds-northern-iraq-kurdistan-peshmerga-isis/">2016 National Geographic article</a>, and since the moment I read it I felt I wanted to include it in some of my writing. With this fic, I've finally found the right place for it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this chapter got a bit long and I actually had a lot more planned for it. So I decided to make the fic 4 parts instead of 3 to at least keep the chapter-length somewhat consistent (I'm a sucker for that kinda thing).</p><p>Also, I hope I'm doing all characters justice here. I'm usually more for writing emotion driven stories and this one is a bit more plot driven which is a fun challenge!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seems that the remedy to heartbreak is war.</p><p>Nothing quite like having your life and the lives of every single person around you uprooted and destroyed to make one forget about the woes of the heart.</p><p>For where initially Jaskier had told himself that there was more to life than Geralt as a way of consoling himself, now those words ring awfully true. He even sings <em>Toss a Coin</em> with ease nowadays. His eyes are constantly too busy scanning the crowd while his mind files away information that could be useful for later. Between searching for those possibly loyal to Nilfgaard and listening for any sliver of information, there is no time to think about how he used to search those same corners for a different face.</p><p>Some days, he actually finds himself wishing to have it back. The days of crying at the beach, his broken heart his only woe.</p><p>Jaskier swishes his ale around in his almost empty cup, wondering when exactly he got this cynical. He supposes it’s been a process, starting atop a mountain and ending right at the bar of the tavern he’s in now. The perfect battlefield for a spy.</p><p>He finishes the rest of his ale and waves down the barmaid. “Another ale Marie, if you please!” he says with a wink. “Tonight’s performance has made me thirsty.”</p><p>From the corner of his eyes, he can see two men a few stools down from him snicker.</p><p><em>Ever the bard, ever the flirt</em> is surely what they’re thinking. Certainly, the bard is too busy looking at Marie’s ample bosom than to listen to any hushed conversation they’re having.</p><p>Certainly not.</p><p>He’s been listening to the merchant and farmer’s conversation ever since they sat down next to what they assumed was a tipsy, flirty bard. Interesting conversation, too, with the merchant going to Ellander for a delivery—of what remains undefined but Jaskier is more keen to know <em>why</em> a merchant from a little town a few days’ travel away from the city has a sudden hurry to go there.</p><p>Just as Marie hands Jaskier his ale, the farmer mumbles: "I heard..."</p><p>Jaskier gives the pretty red-head a wink and takes a slow sip, ears already focusing on the conversation going on right next to him.</p><p>"Heard what?" the merchant asks impatiently.</p><p>The farmer sighs in hesitation and then after a moment, says: "<em>They</em> are there."</p><p><em>They</em>, it's almost funny how no-one dares to say it out loud anymore. How <em>Nilfgaard</em> has become a cursed word, as if saying it is a curse that will conjure a Nilfgaardian soldier out of thin air to cut your tongue out for daring to mention their existence.</p><p>The merchant chuckles. “Well, yes. I wouldn’t be going all the way up to Ellander if they weren’t.”</p><p>It’s an interesting tidbit of information, one Jaskier’s been looking for in fact.</p><p>After their defeat in Sodden, Nilfgaard didn’t necessarily retreat but their advance up north was halted for a while as they took their time to recoup. But Jaskier’s noticed that now that Summer is coming to an end they’re active again. Not with a full army, but small groups of soldiers have been known to travel further and further north on what he assumes are scouting missions.</p><p>He’s following the rumors, wants to find out how far north they’ve managed to get and now it seems they’re in Ellander already. Something he’ll write to Dijkstra about, for sure. Because if they’re in Ellander it’s less than a two weeks’ march away from the Pontar river and, thus, the Redanian border.</p><p>He finishes his ale quickly after that. When he’s done he drops a coin on the bar as he stands up, gives a wave to Marie and whistles to himself as he retires up to his room.</p><p>Time to pack and head off to his new destination.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It takes him two long days to get to Ellander, with little rest and pushing Poppy—his gentle mare—to go at a faster pace then their normal leisure trot.</p><p>It’s not a matter of life or death, but he’d hate to arrive to find any lead has already moved on to another place.</p><p>He searches for a tavern in the middle-class areas of Ellander, because he’s found that Nilfgaard apparently has <em>standards</em>. He finds one that manages to look both slightly up-scale and dingey at the same time and he figures that if he were a Nilfgaardian soldier this would probably be as good a place as any other.</p><p>He doesn’t quite expect to walk in and be met with the frowning face of the inn-keeper. "You’re a bard?" the man asks, eye on the lute on Jaskier’s back.</p><p>"Sometimes," Jaskier says carefully and wonders how upset Poppy will be to be rushed out of the stables in case this, <em>somehow</em>, goes tits-up.</p><p>"Not here,” the inn-keeper shakes his head, looking almost apologetic. “We've already got a bard for tonight."</p><p>“Ah,” Jaskier breathes and suddenly feels relieved. No hostility, then. "Then just a room. Two nights to start with."</p><p>"No need to get the man a room, Albert!” a voice calls out. Excited, female and <em>familiar</em>. “He's sharing with me."</p><p>"Essi!" Jaskier turns around so quick he might give himself whiplash but he doesn’t <em>care</em>.</p><p>Because behind him stands the familiar and <em>alive</em> figure of Essi Daven, a wide smile on her lips and an excited twinkle in her eyes—or well, the one eye that’s not covered by her hair. It feels as if <em>years</em> have lifted off of his shoulders, from his very soul because she’s alive, <em>Essi is alive</em>!</p><p>It takes everything he has not to hug her close, not to cry. Not here, he tells himself. Not yet.</p><p>But while he tries to hold himself back—because if he doesn’t he might just break down—Essi waltzes right up to him and throws an arm around his shoulder.</p><p>Behind the bar, Albert the inn-keeper glances between the two of them. "You are... sharing?"</p><p>Essi raises an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Albert?" she asks, and that’s that.</p><p>Jaskier is sharing a room with Essi.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The moment they are behind closed doors, he pulls Essi into a tight hug.</p><p>“Melitele’s tits,” he whispers into her long, blonde hair and he hopes he doesn’t sound as close to tears as he actually is. “Never been happier to see you.”</p><p>"No need to squish me, Jas." Essi giggles and pats the back of his head, probably wondering what has Jaskier so clingy.</p><p> He leans back and  gives her a sad smile. "You were in Cintra. I thought..." he shudders</p><p>"Oh," she allows, soft and understanding and she pulls Jaskier back into another quick hug. "I wasn't there when... you know."</p><p>"Lucky that you weren't," Jaskier says and hopes he can erase all images of the opposite that his mind has conjured. He doesn't need to worry anymore. Not about Essi, at least.</p><p>Essi huffs at Jaskier's words and shakes her head with a shrug. "Luck has nothing to do with it."</p><p>Jaskier blinks.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>A smirk crosses Essi's face. "Ah now, don't act stupid," she says, giving him a pointed look.</p><p>It takes a moment before it clicks. But he realizes that <em>of course</em> he wouldn't be the only bard Dijkstra has enlisted. He thinks back to Ellen worrying about what Essi had gotten herself into and he wonders if she knows.</p><p>"There were rumors," Essi says after a few moments, her cheerfulness replaced with a frown. "I'm sure even queen Calanthe heard them," she shakes her head, bitterly adding: "I decided to listen to them."</p><p>
  <em>Unlike queen Calanthe</em>
</p><p>Jaskier lets his gaze drop to the floor for a second as his mind flickers to Ciri. He's heard of Calanthe's death more times than he cares for, for once would've been enough. But it's all people talk about, often accompanied by unkind comments about her and her leadership, her harshness and her pride. Over the years, Jaskier has been privy to the familial side of Calanthe as well. Caring deeply for her family, yet still fierce and ever proud. He just prays that Calanthe's pride didn't cost Ciri her life as well.</p><p>He doesn't ask about more details about Cintra, and Essi doesn't offer.</p><p>Instead, he gently sets down his lute and tosses his traveling bag down next to the only bed in the room. Granted, it's a double but it's still only one bed. The last person he shared a bed with was–</p><p>He breaks off that thought before it takes hold and turns to Essi, waving a hand at the bed. "So we're sharing this then?"</p><p>"It's surely cheaper, isn't it?" Essi laughs and happily claps her hands together. "Plus I want to spend some time with you now that we've run into each other!"</p><p>Jaskier can't help but smile fondly at Essi's enthusiasm. He does share it, however: "It's hardly inconspicuous."</p><p>Essi huffs and waves a hand into his direction with a grin. "Two lovers spending a few nights together in a tavern room in a big city isn't inconspicuous? Jas, where has your sense of romance gone!"</p><p>Those words leave an unexpected sting and Jaskier's face falls as he mutters: "I'm sure you know where my sense of romance has gone."</p><p>The happy mood has now completely evaporated from the room.</p><p>"Ellen wrote me," Essi says in explanation and she sits down onto the bed, patting the empty space next to her in an invitation for Jaskier to do the same. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Jaskier sits down with a shrug. "Oh well, it was bound to happen. Had to be kicked out of my romantic illusion at some point. Besides, it's over a year ago now. I'm mostly over it."</p><p>Mostly over loving a man for almost twenty years, if it wasn't such a painful memory he'd say it's quite the achievement.</p><p>"Good," Essi bumps her shoulder against his and Jaskier chooses to ignore the fact that her <em>good</em> sounds more like a doubtful <em>sure</em> than anything else. "I just wonder..." Essi starts, but then shuts her mouth, apparently deciding not to ask her question.</p><p>“Wonder what? You’ve never shied away from asking me things.”</p><p>Essi turns to look at him and it's clear she's debating whether she should speak up or not. Eventually, she softly says: “Why you’re still following him.”</p><p>Jaskier blinks. “I’m not,” he says with a frown.</p><p>Essi raises an eyebrow. “So it’s a coincidence he was rumored to have been here just two days ago?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Jaskier doesn't like this new feeling in his chest, both apprehensive and elated.</p><p>But Essi isn't done, must think he's lying, for she crosses her arms in front of her chest and carries on: “And with a little girl in tow, as well. Know anything about that?”</p><p>Jaskier sits on the bed, frozen.</p><p>The world around him falls away as he tries to process Essi's words.</p><p>Geralt with a little girl in tow.</p><p>"Oh," he breathes and doesn't quite manage to bite back a sob.</p><p>"Shit, you didn't know?" Essi asks, sounding panicked and apologetic.</p><p>But Jaskier isn't listening. He's too busy holding back the tears that threaten to spill as for the second time today he is overwhelmed with relief.</p><p>Geralt with a little girl.</p><p>"She's alive," he whispers with a laugh. "He's found her and she's alive!"</p><p>There's a lot of pieces to the puzzle he needs to figure out, but to know that Ciri is under Geralt's protective wing now is news he's been dreaming off.</p><p>He sleeps that night with his heart lighter than it has been in <em>months</em>.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It takes Jaskier spending one night at the tavern—seated in a corner as Essi entertains the crowd—to realize that while Geralt might be doing his best to protect Ciri, his best might not be good enough.</p><p>He's sat himself close to the four men who'd Essi overheard mentioning the Witcher and a girl. Spies, she suspects them to be and it's an assessment Jaskier finds himself agreeing with.</p><p>He can't overhear the full conversation; their voices hushed which in itself is uncommon in a tavern that’s usually full of loud conversations and even louder laughter. He catches parts of it though, and when Essi finishes her performance for the night he's learned they are moving along towards the Kestrel Mountains and that they're worth worrying about. Because while they speak Common, Jaskier recognizes the accent with its drawn-out syllables and harsh pronunciation.</p><p>Nilfgaardian.</p><p>He barely sleeps that night, trying to piece it all together.</p><p>Of course there is the worry they are obviously intending to cross the Redanian border, but this is not his worry to deal with. To report, yes, but other than that there is hardly anything he can do—unless he is told otherwise.</p><p>But it's not Redania that he worries about, lying next to a sleeping Essi and staring at the ceiling during the long hours of the night. Nor is he particularly worried about Geralt, because while the man might have the emotional capacity of a split-pea, at least he's able to defend and protect himself.</p><p>But Jaskier is not so certain Geralt is able to do the same for Ciri.</p><p>Initially, he'd been so worried whether or not she was still alive but now he realizes that death wasn't her only threat. She's powerful, he knows that. No details, but he's unsure if anyone really knows those. But it's with an almost cold feeling in his chest that he realizes that Nilfgaard must know about her powers, too. Why else would four Nilfgaardian spies be looking for a Witcher? No-one that doesn't have a Monster in their backyard cares about the whereabouts of Witchers, unless they are looking for his companion.</p><p>Fuck, Jaskier thinks as he drags a hand down his face.</p><p>Does Geralt know? Does <em>Ciri</em> know? They must, right?</p><p>Yet if they know, Jaskier has his answer if Geralt can protect Ciri. For if Nilfgaard knows where they are, where they are heading...</p><p>Because now that he thinks of it, he knows where Geralt is taking Ciri. With Autumn having set in and a cub to protect the only place for a Witcher to go is Kaer Morhen. The route there passing by the Kestrel Mountains.</p><p>But Melitele, if they haven’t even entered Kaedwen, that means they still have a month's worth of travel left before they reach the keep. If Nilfgaard is getting close now, they'll surely have found them in less than a month's time. Because Geralt hunts Monsters, and he does it well. But when it comes to humans, their behaviors and <em>their</em> way of hunting Jaskier knows the Witcher often finds himself lacking experience and knowledge—even if Geralt would never admit to it.</p><p>Jaskier will admit, he isn't sure if <em>he</em> would be able to keep Ciri safe from Nilfgaard until she's at Kaer Morhen—a place he only knows the vague location off. But, he decides, he'll do a better job than Geralt.</p><p>Besides, he thinks as he turns his head to look at Essi sleeping next to him, he's got help.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>"Jaskier, that's treason."</p><p>Right, so perhaps having Essi help him will take a little more convincing than he’d originally anticipated.</p><p>True, he hadn’t exactly expected her to be jumping in joy at his proposal to <em>help me find Geralt and the girl, but you can’t tell anyone.</em></p><p>And to be fair, she's right.</p><p>“I know,” he admits with a sigh. Less than half a year in the Service and here he is, already betraying them. “But she’s in danger. I can’t…" He pauses with a grimace on his face and an ache in his chest. "The last time I decided not to do something, I lost my hometown and my sister."</p><p>Essi frowns at his words and, after a few moments, carefully says: "You not jumping at a chance to join the Service didn't cause this war, Jaskier."</p><p>"No, it didn't." Jaskier sighs harshly and stands up from where they're seated on the bed to pace the room. "Because I couldn't <em>do</em> anything. Now I can. I can save her."</p><p>"Why is she in danger?" Essi asks, voice curious and just a tad demanding. "Who is after her? Jaskier, who is she?"</p><p>Jaskier turns to look at Essi with a wry smile. "The less you know the better, right?" he asks and he has a feeling she won't take the bait, won't be satisfied with the oh so very few facts he's giving her but he's afraid to give more. Not because he doesn't trust Essi, he wouldn't be asking for her help if he didn't. But the thing with information is, the more people know the bigger the risk of even more people knowing. <em>He</em> should know that there are ears and eyes everywhere and a slip of the tongue is as easily made as it is picked up by unwanted listeners.</p><p>So if he can get away with sharing as little as possible, he'll try it.</p><p>Not just for Ciri's safety, but for the safety of them all.</p><p>He gives Essi a pleading look. "I know I'm asking for a lot here, and a lot of trust as well. But you know me, Essi. Would I lie when I say this is important? Not just for me, but for the future of the Continent."</p><p>“And you know <em>me</em>," Essi shoots back, sharp and a bit offended. "I want to help, Jas. More so when it’s not just a personal thing, but if I’m going to betray the Service I need to know what for. Treason, if Dijkstra finds out, will cost us our lives.”</p><p>She doesn't say <em>do you understand that</em> but her eyes ask the question for her nonetheless.</p><p>And the thing is, Jaskier does understand. Knows the risks of this whole undertaking but it’s Ciri and he knows he’d travel to the end of the Continent and then further if it means keeping her safe. Of course, most of that is because he’s seen her grow up and he <em>cares</em>—he might’ve been unable to save Josephine, but he will be damned if he doesn’t try to protect the other woman in his life that feels like his little sister.</p><p>He knows, though, that even if he hadn’t known her he would’ve wished to protect her and keep her out of Nilfgaard’s hands. Not for the future of the Continent because really, he’s not <em>that</em> noble. But this isn’t some soldier that got himself into trouble. No, this is Ciri who is nothing more than an innocent girl—and she’s only <em>twelve</em>.</p><p><em>He</em> knows all of that and decided it’s worth the risk.</p><p>But Essi doesn't.</p><p>"I... All right," he decides. "All right," he repeats to himself as he makes his way over to the hearth. He grabs the fireplace poker to move around the burning logs, making the fire flare up and crackle loudly.</p><p>Just enough to cover the conversation from anyone trying to listen on the other sides of walls or doors.</p><p>"Come, let's stand at the fire."</p><p>"Jaskier... how important can one girl be?" Essi asks, as she makes her way over.</p><p>"I don't know. And I doubt anyone really does,” he whispers and continues to tell the story. Of the banquet so many years ago, Pavetta’s power, of his history with Ciri and how terribly young she still is.</p><p>And how now, she is in danger.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>They hatch a plan and leave Ellander that same day with the goal to find Geralt and Ciri before the Nilfgaardians do.</p><p>Considering the fact that Jaskier is quite certain he knows their destination, he’s optimistic they will succeed. Certainly, if it had been Geralt traveling on his own there is no way they would’ve caught up but he isn’t. Not only that, he can’t push Ciri the way he pushes himself—or even the way he used to push Jaskier—so travel time is bound to be slower. A good thing, for if the rumors Essi heard were right then Geralt and Ciri are almost three days ahead of them.</p><p>They ride fast to try and catch up and stop little, settling down for the night only when the last rays of sunlight have disappeared behind the horizon.</p><p>The next morning, they part ways.</p><p>If Geralt is going to Kaer Morhen, he needs to head north and cross the Pontar river. The thing is, Jaskier isn’t sure if the Witcher will chose the river crossing at White Bridge or Flotsam which is why Essi and him will be travelling separately.</p><p>So he bids Essi goodbye and sets off towards Flotsam, a xenovox in his pocket and a promise to listen for Essi every night. He’s not sure how she got hold of the small communication boxes, but he’s certainly not complaining.</p><p>He’s been travelling for five rather fruitless days when he makes camp in the woods for the last time, as tomorrow he can finally sleep in a bed in a Flotsam inn. He hopes to find news of Ciri and Geralt there, but so far Essi’s picked up more rumors on her travels than he has.</p><p>It seems that Geralt has chosen the White Bridge river crossing, after all.</p><p>He’s poking the fire with a stick when the xenovox comes to life and Essi’s voice fills the otherwise silent clearing.</p><p>He scrambles to take it out of his pack and really only catches the last syllable of whatever Essi was saying.</p><p>“Wait, wait, what did you say?” he asks, louder than anticipated in his curiosity because they agreed to speak at sunrise every day not well after sunset so something must’ve happened—or someone been found.</p><p>"I found them!” Essi’s excitement is obvious, even through the cracking connection of the xenovox.</p><p>All breath is knocked out of Jaskier at those three words, and he feels relief, fear and adrenaline all at once. Those three feelings are enough to drown out the flare—small and barely noticeable, like a tinder—of heartache at the back of his mind because <em>Essi’s found them, found Geralt</em>.</p><p>“They’re going to Murivel. I’ve been told there’s a contract for a nest of Nekkers there that that Witcher of yours was rather interested in.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>When Jaskier arrives in Murivel , Essi is waiting for him at the main road into town.</p><p>“Are they still here?” he asks worriedly, sliding off of a tired Poppy.</p><p>He prays he made it in time.</p><p>“Yes, but trouble is as well.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. "The Nekkers?" he asks, although his gut-feeling tells him that a nest of Nekkers isn’t going to be any trouble.</p><p>"If only,” Essi sighs.</p><p>"Shit," Jaskier mutters and his whole body seems to deflate. He reminds himself though, that they are still on time.</p><p>No time to despair.</p><p><em>Yet</em>.</p><p>"Shit indeed," Essi agrees and then she ushers him into town and towards the stables. “We’ll give Poppy a rest and then I’ll show you my room,” she says, which means <em>then I will catch you up with what happened</em>.</p><p>Jaskier nods and he quickly arranges a spot for Poppy, drops a few coins in the stable-boy’s hands and walks into the stable, only to promptly freeze on the doorstep.</p><p>Essi bumps into him, huffing his name in complaint but he doesn’t quite register it.</p><p>All he sees is the mare standing next to Essi’s.</p><p>And not just any mare.</p><p><em>Roach</em>.</p><p>Roach, who lifts her head and nickers at him, stomping a hoof against the ground and Jaskier had never thought he’d see the day that a horse would throw a tantrum at seeing him.</p><p>“Hold Poppy for a minute,” he tells Essi and without waiting for an answer he’s standing in front of Roach with a few strides. “Oh, you beautiful stubborn girl!”</p><p>The moment he steps into reach, Roach pushes her head against his chest and Jaskier laughs. He reaches out a hand and gives her mane a quick stroke, murmuring: “I know, I missed you too."</p><p>His traitorous heart wants to ask if she's been taking care of Geralt but it's not like she is going to answer him, nor should he care. So instead he reaches into his pocket, where he keeps some sugar cubes for Poppy, and feeds it to Roach. "There you go, girl. Might have some for you later."</p><p>Essi is remarkably silent throughout the whole ordeal and when he turns away from Roach with a last pat to her mane he finds Poppy already in her box. "Thanks," is all he can say with a watery smile.</p><p>"Of course," Essi says, giving Jaskier a small smile in return and she gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Ready to go?"</p><p>He nods, and without further ado the two of them quickly make their way to Essi's rented room where she explains the situation.</p><p>There is another inn in town, which is where Geralt and Ciri are staying plus what Essi assumes are Nilfgaardians. The Nekkers haven't been taken care off yet and the spies haven't made a move for as far as she knows.</p><p>"They'll probably wait until Geralt goes out to hunt," Jaskier says because that's what he'd do.</p><p>"He won't take her with him?"</p><p>Jaskier shakes his head. "Too dangerous."</p><p>Essi frowns. "But if she's that important, being alone is more dangerous."</p><p>"Probably," Jaskier says with a heavy sigh. "But it's a nest, no saying how many Nekkers there are and he's well aware of the risks of bringing someone along on a hunt." <em>He</em> certainly remembers the near-death experience as he stared a Bruxa right into its monstrous and deadly face and he assumes Geralt does as well.</p><p>Even if, perhaps, it's with annoyance rather than relief that Jaskier survived.</p><p>But, he tells himself with a shake of his head, <em>that</em> is not the topic at hand and it's absolutely useless lingering on it now.</p><p>"He'll probably think she's safer hidden up in their room."</p><p>"Right, so we have to talk to him before he goes on that hunt." Essi nods and then gives Jaskier a careful look. "Assuming we'll talk to him."</p><p>"I..." Jaskier grimaces and he pointedly ignores how his heart leaps.</p><p>How talking about Geralt, even when the conversation isn't really about <em>Geralt</em> as such, leaves a sting in his chest and how thinking of talking to Geralt comes with expectations, comes with <em>hope</em> he doesn't want to have.</p><p><em>You're over this</em>, he sternly tells himself because he doesn't need an apology. He's here for Ciri and once he's convinced Geralt it's best that <em>he</em> escorts her to Ard Carraigh for her own safety, he'll get himself right out of the Witcher's hair again. Just as desired.</p><p>"Yes," he concludes and rubs a hand down his face. "Yes, we'll talk to him. Explain the plan and have him agree that I'll take Ciri."</p><p>"What if he doesn't?" Essi asks, doing Jaskier the favor of not mentioning his short mental breakdown.</p><p>"He will," Jaskier says because if anything, he believes that Geralt would truly want what's best for Ciri regardless of his feelings towards him.</p><p>"Good, okay." Essi nods and then leans her head to the side with a small frown. "So, what <em>is</em> the plan?"</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The plan as Jaskier sees it, is quite simple.</p><p>They go back to the stable and wait there until Geralt comes to retrieve Roach to go on his hunt. Jaskier knows the Witcher used to prefer dawn, which means the wait shouldn't be more than two hours at most. Once Geralt agrees that Jaskier takes Ciri, they go back to the inn and sneak Ciri out of their room through the window so as to not alert any Nilfgaardians hiding out in the tavern below. Then, Jaskier will sneak her out of Murivel and then Ciri, Poppy and himself will travel to Ard Carraigh—inconspicuously, of course—where they will meet Geralt who can then take her to Kaer Morhen. Meanwhile Essi will travel into the opposite direction spreading false rumors about the Witcher’s location.</p><p>It's a good plan.</p><p>Safe, sound and easy.</p><p>But when Essi and Jaskier walk into the stables, they already run into an issue.</p><p>"Fuck," Jaskier curses quite ineloquently as his sound, safe and easy plan falls apart right in front of his eyes.</p><p>"The horse," Essi manages. "She's gone."</p><p>"Fuck," Jaskier repeats because, quite frankly, what else can he say? Stupidly, perhaps, he had thought his plan would work without a hitch and now Geralt has already left. "Okay," he starts with a heavy sigh. "<em>Okay</em>. So we don't talk to Geralt first.”</p><p>It’s not the end of world, but Jaskier hates that he’ll have to set his plan in motion without Geralt’s approval. He’s already uncertain how the other feels about him now after their parting atop that damned mountain, so he doesn’t want to add kidnapping the Witcher’s Child Surprise to the apparently long list of complaints Geralt has against him. But there is no other way, because with Geralt out on a hunt and Nilfgaard in town Jaskier is loath to leave Ciri on her own longer than absolutely necessary.</p><p>And so Jaskier finds himself on the doorstep of the tavern Geralt and Ciri are staying at, Essi already off to make arrangements for his departure.</p><p>First things first, he gets himself an ale at the bar to blend in and make conversation with the inn-keeper. </p><p>“Heard you’ve got a Witcher staying here,” he says casually, because over the years he’s learned if the question is asked innocently and curiously enough an inn-keeper is usually happy to share gossip. Especially if it’s about a Witcher.</p><p>He doesn’t expect the inn-keeper to turn around with a frown on his face. “Ya looking for ‘im as well?”</p><p>Jaskier leans his head to the side and tries not to let his worry shine through his eyes. <em>As well</em> doesn’t come as a surprise, but it doesn’t bode well for the situation. “Not the Witcher necessarily.”</p><p>“The girl, then?” the inn-keeper asks with a raised eyebrow. “Seems strange to me, ya know? A little girl with a Witcher.”</p><p>“Ah, who knows the ways of Destiny.” Jaskier shrugs, despite the fact his fingers are tightened around his ale now that he’s so close to knowing which room Ciri is in.</p><p>The inn-keeper barks a laugh. “I sure as hell don’t! But was just thinking, with that Witcher out she might need some company.” He gestures towards the back of the inn.</p><p>Jaskier’s head snaps around to the dark corner and that’s when he sees that while on his first quick glance through the inn it had looked like a man on his own sitting at the table, it isn’t. Next to him, almost completely hidden from sight, sits a small figure.</p><p>A child.</p><p>Ciri.</p><p>All breath is knocked from his lungs in that moment, because <em>no</em>. She isn’t supposed to be in the tavern, on her own. She should be in her room, safe and alone.</p><p>“Not that it’s any of my business of course. But you seem a more decent man then the others that have asked,” the man continues but Jaskier hardly hears.</p><p>He mutters a “thank you” and as he stalks towards the table something fierce and protective burns in his gut. He doubts it will come to a fight, for a spy is a spy and not a soldier, but he knows he will do whatever he must to keep Ciri safe.</p><p>When he reaches their table, he slides onto the booth on Ciri's other side and places a hand in front of her protectively, his arm a barrier between her and the other man.</p><p>"Ah, Fiona dear there you are,” he says, using the name Essi’s told him she uses now and looks down at her with what he hopes is a comforting smile.</p><p>She might not recognize him, with his hair trimmed a bit shorter than he likes, his voice weary and tired of this whole war and his doublet less embellished and more neutral than anyone who knows him would expect.</p><p>Ciri’s quick to look at him and oh, he wants to hold her to his chest and never let her go with how frightened she looks. But when their eyes catch, something close to recognition flickers between her brows. Like she doesn’t quite know <em>who</em> he is, but realizes that she does know him.</p><p>Jaskier inclines his head in a tiny nod and reaches out to place a calming hand atop of hers below the table. Beneath his fingertips, her hands shake because she might be fierce and brave, she's still only twelve.</p><p>“I’ve been looking for you,” he tells her with a soft smile that he hopes will reassure her.</p><p>It does, but only slightly.</p><p>"Who are you?" the man on Ciri’s other side demands, voice harsh and his Nilfgaardian accent coming out in his obvious frustration.</p><p>Jaskier’s head snaps into the man’s direction and he regards the other with a glare that would have many other shaking in their boots with how angry and protective it is. "No, Sir, who are <em>you</em>? What's a grown man want with my niece?" he asks, raising his voice to get the attention of the people around them.</p><p>Let others hear, let there be witnesses and spectators because if it is anything that a spy does not want it is to be seen.</p><p>And Jaskier is going to make sure everyone will have seen <em>this</em>.</p><p>The man shrinks back a bit, eyes flying across the tavern and over the faces of the people who have turned to listen to the conversation that is none of their business.</p><p>They say curiosity killed the cat, but it will save his cub.</p><p>The man raises his hands and gives a falsely apologetic smile. "She was all alone in a tavern, I was trying to help."</p><p>Jaskier flashed a equally false smile in return. “Ever so kind, we’re fine now.”</p><p>He turns to look at Ciri and he feels terrible for her in that moment. She must know, too, that she is caught between a rock and a hard place. He just thanks Melitele that apparently, she subconsciously feels their connection and looks like she’s decided he is most definitely the lesser of the two evils seated at the table with her.</p><p>Soon, he thinks as he gently places a hand atop her shoulder, soon it’ll all be fine. “Shall we go back to our room?”</p><p>Ciri narrows her eyes at him for a moment, glances to the man on her other side and with only the barest hint of hesitation mutters: “Yes.”</p><p>Jaskier leads their descent of the creaky, old stairs in the hopes it offers Ciri some comfort that he would willingly walk with his back to her.</p><p>Behind him, Ciri’s steps are soft before they stop.</p><p>He leans his head to the side and turns around to find her in a defensive stance only two steps lower than him. Confusion on her brow and a dagger in her hand.</p><p>Good girl, he thinks fondly. Geralt prepared you well, at least.</p><p>“Who are you?” she asks, both her voice and the dagger in her hands shaking just a bit. “Who was <em>he</em>?”</p><p>Jaskier smiles then, soft and gentle and for the first time since he’s been in her presence steps into candle-light so she can properly see his face. “Come on, cub. You know who I am.”</p><p>Her eyes widen the moment she hears the nickname and a sob wrecks her small, thin frame as she finally recognizes him. "Jaskier?" she asks, her voice a timid and insecure whisper even now.</p><p>As if she almost doesn’t believe who she is seeing.</p><p>Jaskier takes the two steps down and, first things first, takes the dagger from her hands and slips it back into her boot. Then, he reaches up a hand and strokes it down her cheek just as a sob wrecks her body. “Come, up to your room,” he says as he gathers her into his arms. His heart is ready to burst, to finally have her safe with him.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier carries Ciri to her room, whispering "I've got you" and "I missed you" in her ear.</p><p>By the time he's opened the door and they're both seated on the bed, her tears have subsided and her breathing evened out again but her eyes still look red and her hands still tremble slightly in her lap. "I'm glad you're here," she mumbles and with all that's happened, Jaskier doesn't doubt that she also means <em>I'm glad you're alive</em>.</p><p>He places a hand atop her knee and gives Ciri a smile. "Me too."</p><p>"But..." Ciri's eyebrows draw together in that familiar way they always do when she's got something on her mind. "Why?" she asks, softly as if she almost doesn't want to know the answer but is still smart enough to know that Jaskier's presence isn’t just a mere stroke of luck.</p><p>Jaskier sighs, hesitates for a moment because what can he say? What should he say? With a heavy heart he realizes that the only thing to say is the truth. She might be young, but she doesn't deserve to be lied to about her own fate. Besides, knowing Ciri she'll catch on quickly with that incredible mind of hers. “What happened downstairs is exactly why I’m here,” he replies.</p><p>They don't have much time, but he wants to give Ciri a moment to process the situation, to ask some of her questions before he starts ushering her out of here.</p><p>“You called me Fiona,” Ciri states.</p><p>“That I did,” Jaskier nods. “And when we're not alone, you may call me Julian.” </p><p>Jaskier the bard is known to travel with Geralt of Rivia, after all. Julian of Kerack is not.</p><p>“Julian,” Ciri mutters, trying the name on her tongue before looking him up and down. “Is that why you look different? Sound different?”</p><p>“They’re dangerous times, these. We have to be careful,” Jaskier explains with a sad smile and reaches out a hand to brush a stray hair out of Ciri's face. "It's why sometimes we have to do things we don't really want to. To keep ourselves and those we care about safe."</p><p>"Jask," Ciri whispers the nickname, a frown on her brow and a slight hint of fear creeping into her eyes. "What don't you want to do?"</p><p>"I wish you were safe here," Jaskier says and then drops his eyes to the bed as he softly adds: "With Geralt."</p><p>Ciri's eyes widen in understanding. "You're taking me."</p><p>“Yes.” Jaskier nods, his tone apologetic.</p><p>Ciri swallows. “Geralt doesn’t know.”</p><p>Jaskier lets out a heavy sigh. “He should have. But things haven't gone according to plan,” he admits and then adds: “I’m writing him a note, though. To try and explain things.” Although the note he has prepared can hardly be called that. Poem is perhaps a better word for the disguised message he's trying to communicate.</p><p>Ciri looks thoughtful for a moment before her voice drops low and sad as she asks: “Will I see him again?”</p><p>“Cub, sweetheart!” Jaskier doesn’t know what to say, grapples for words and while he does he pulls Ciri close against him in a hug that is meant to offer comfort to the both of them. “Of course you will,” he promises and leans back a bit, still holding her close and he catches her eyes. “It’s necessary to go now, but it’s only temporarily okay? Trust me.”</p><p>“Okay,” Ciri nods, despite the tears shining in her eyes. “Okay. I trust you.”</p><p>He hugs Ciri again, lets her lean against his chest for a moment longer. "I wish we weren't reunited like this. But you <em>will</em> be with Geralt again, I promise."</p><p>"But now we have to go?"</p><p>"Unfortunately," Jaskier says and reluctantly lets Ciri go.</p><p>Their time has run out.</p><p>He stands up and reaches for the small bag shoved behind the bed, he doesn’t recognize it as Geralt’s so it must be Ciri’s. He turns to her and holds it up. "Are these all your things?"</p><p>"Yes,” Ciri nods, already off the bed and putting on her cloak.</p><p>Jaskier isn't sure if he feels proud or devastated at how she's keeping such a brave face.</p><p><em>He </em>certainly feels like crying, if he's honest.</p><p>But he can't, especially not now that he has Ciri in his care.</p><p>So he turns around, walking over to the window to open it.</p><p>Time to focus on the task at hand, he thinks and peers out of the window while he lets out a whistle.</p><p>Essi steps out of the safety of the shadows and he can see the impatience on her face. “Took you long enough," she mumbles. "Hurry up!"</p><p>Ciri pushes herself against the window-frame next to Jaskier to look down at Essi. "Hello," she greets, because, if anything, she is still polite.</p><p>Essi gives a small wave but before she can say anything Jaskier tosses Ciri's bag out the window and towards Essi, who catches it with ease.</p><p>Then, Jaskier turns to Ciri with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Come on, cub. Time to go."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I will admit some parts of this chapter were a bit of a struggle to write. So I'm throwing it on here so I can stop overthinking it and move on to the next, and last part of this fic!</p><p>Also, surprise surprise you are getting some Geralt POV in this chapter as well!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART III</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Taking care of the Nekkers takes longer than anticipated.</p><p>It’s not that there are exceptionally many, or that they are extremely more vicious than normal. But Vesemir has always said that a distracted Witcher is a dead one and while Geralt is definitely still alive, he was also distracted.</p><p>He could have known it would happen, reluctant as he was to take a contract in the first place. But he can’t protect Ciri if she’s dead, and she needs a warm bed some nights to keep away sickness and proper food so her growing body doesn’t starve.</p><p>And for this, he needs coin.</p><p>Coin that he will now collect from the alderman, even if it is a laughable underpayment for the job he’s done. But he’s impatient enough to collect and get back to Ciri, make sure she’s safe and momentarily calm his distracted mind.</p><p>Because even though he knows it’ll be fine if she’s stayed up in the room as instructed, he still worries. But at least now he has the coin he needs to keep her healthy as well as safe.</p><p>The extra weight in his pocket certainly means he’s more relaxed bringing Roach back to the stables than he was picking her up earlier that day.</p><p>He puts her in her box, noticing that two horses are missing compared to when he’d left earlier that day. He frowns, wondering who would be desperate enough to leave a town after sunset. In the dark, it’s easy to get lost, robbed, murdered and possibly all of them at the same time. But, he tells himself, it’s none of his business what the local folk get up to, nor is it his concern.</p><p>He makes sure Roach is as comfortable as she can be and is about to leave when a boy sticks his head around the corner of the box. He’s got a mop of dark curls on his head and curious dark eyes as he looks at Geralt.</p><p>"Sir, Witcher Sir. I 'ave a note for you,” he says, only smelling the tiniest bit like fear and sticking his arm out towards Geralt, a piece of paper in his hand.</p><p>Geralt gives Roach one last pat before walking to the boy and taking the paper from him with a frown. He’d expect a note from the alderman, perhaps, but he’s just seen the man and he hadn’t mentioned anything.</p><p>He unfolds the paper and raises an eyebrow in surprise at the words he reads.</p><p>
  <em>As Winter fast approaches,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Southern warmth is chased away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Spring and Summer now long gone, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>and even Autumn days have passed.</em>
</p><p>Poetry.</p><p>Some sod has gone completely out of their mind and has left him poetry.</p><p>“Who gave this to you?” he asks the lad, curious at the very least to know who would be this… brave or stupid, he isn’t quite sure. There’s only one man he can think of that would give a Witcher—him—poetry, and he might not be around but he surely is both brave and stupid—and <em>so much more</em> but Geralt tries very hard not to linger on that because it’s fruitless, his own words having taken away any right he has to Jaskier.</p><p>“Someone,” the boy answers with a shrug. “I didn’t know ‘im.”</p><p>Someone. Geralt shoves the note into his pack with a sigh—he’d throw it away if it weren’t for the curious pair of eyes still watching him—and then he’s off.</p><p>He goes straight to the inn and up to the room he rented. No time for ale after his hunt, not when he has Ciri upstairs.</p><p>Cirilla, his child surprise. His <em>destiny, </em>he thinks, and whereas before the thought had always been bitter, now it’s softer because he’s met her. Because now, he cares.</p><p>Oh, how he cares and at least now he will admit it to himself. Now, after having lost both people in his life he refused to admit to care about. If anything, having lost both Jaskier and Yennefer has been a lesson.</p><p>He’s not better off on his own, after all. That first year after the mountain, during the darkest hour of the night when the fire would be dying and all that could be heard was the hoot of an owl he felt lonely. When a hunt went wrong and he was barely left with his life and a gaping hole in his side, the wound hurt more without soft fingers patching it up. When he sat in dark corners of inns paying double price for food, drink and boarding and listening to a bard with only half the talent Jaskier has he hated this <em>blessed silence</em>.</p><p>Even now that he isn’t alone anymore, now that he has Ciri, within the safety of his own mind he wishes to have Jaskier at his side. He is the one with the people skills and while he’s fiercely protective of Ciri he knows he won’t raise her right on his own. But while it would certainly be easier to have Jaskier at his side—if he’s ever forgiven for his careless and unmeant words—part of him is relieved he is not.</p><p>With Nilfgaard on their heels, Jaskier is much safer literally anywhere else.</p><p>His thoughts come to a stuttering halt, however, when he ascends the stairs that lead up to the rentable rooms above the tavern.</p><p>Something is wrong.</p><p>There is no soft heartbeat that gets louder and louder as he gets closer to the room. There are heartbeats, sure, but none that sounds like Ciri’s.</p><p>He’s up the stairs and in front of their room in the blink of an eye, and now it’s his own heartbeat that he hears echoing in his ears. He knows this feeling, even if it’s one he rarely experiences nowadays.</p><p>But his heart beating the speed of that of a human and his body feeling like it might jump into fight-or-flight mode any second now can only mean one thing.</p><p>
  <em>Fear</em>
</p><p>“Fiona?” he means to say, but it comes out as a whisper. A question he isn’t sure why he’s asking.</p><p>He knows no-one is in the room.</p><p>In fact, when he opens the room it’s not only empty, it’s thrown upside down for as much as the bare room can be thrown upside down. The sheets are discarded on the floor, the thin, straw mattress flipped and hanging half off of the bed, the only chair lies shattered in a corner and the window is wide open.</p><p>Geralt’s hands shake at his side in anger, his nostrils flaring as he tries to catch a scent—<em>any</em> scent. But nothing much lingers in the room with the cold breeze wafting in from the open window.</p><p>He’s downstairs in a flash, the inn-keeper dragged over the bar and Geralt’s steel sword at his throat as he demands, low and threatening: “Where is the girl.”</p><p>The man’s eyes are wide, his face ghostly pale and he absolutely <em>reeks</em> of fear as he stammers: “Ah ,w- well you see she came down for some food and– and there was a man. Took her back upstairs.”</p><p>Geralt growls. “And you let him?”</p><p>“He seemed kind! Certainly a lot more decent than–” the man stops speaking so abruptly Geralt wonders he might have bit his own tongue. <em>You</em> he’s certain the man was about to say.</p><p>Anyone better for a girl than a Witcher.</p><p>The inn-keeper swallows and softly mumbles: “more decent than the other man.”</p><p>“There were two men?” Geralt’s hand tightens around the man’s shirt and demands: “I want the full story.”</p><p>“Y-yes. There was a second man… he saw her first. Didn’t trust him so when the other guy started asking me about a Witcher and a girl…” the man sighs. “Can’t do much, but sometimes one bad thing is better than the other bad thing. The other man, he took her up and she seemed fine to follow. Had my boy follow after a bit, listen at the door to make sure all was fine.”</p><p>“Well, all is not <em>fine,”</em> Geralt spits, although he loosens his hold on the man who albeit being terrified of him, isn’t lying. “The room’s trashed and the girl is gone.”</p><p>“The room’s…” the man’s eyes widen. “The other man. The one that saw her first, he went up as well. I thought he’d gone up to his own room, you know?”</p><p>Two men, a trashed room and Ciri missing. “What happened?” Geralt growls, but he knows the inn-keeper can’t answer that question for him.</p><p>Fuck, he thinks. Coming here was a mistake. Going on that hunt was a mistake.</p><p>“I don’t know,” the inn-keeper admits. “He came back down again not too much later, on his own. Fuck, was it the man she want up with? He seemed nice, I swear!” the man cries, but Geralt is already stalking out of the inn with anger boiling in his gut, his hands clenched into shaking fists.</p><p>Someone has taken Ciri from him.</p><p>It’s time to hunt.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It’s late afternoon when they pass by an abandoned barn.</p><p>Jaskier lets Poppy come to a halt and for the umpteenth time turns to look behind, over the empty grassy fields, and he lets out a sigh of relief.</p><p>No Nilfgaard and no Geralt.</p><p>He’ll be happy when they’ve crossed the vast grassland at the foot of the Kestrel Mountains and can find both shade and shelter between trees again.</p><p>“We’ll spend the night here,” he tells Ciri, who is sitting in front of him.</p><p>“So early?” she asks. “It’s not dark yet.”</p><p>Jaskier allows himself to chuckle. “Safety before speed, my dear.”</p><p>Plus, he needs at least some light for what he’ll be doing tonight and a fire won’t be a luxury they can afford themselves yet, only a days’ ride away from Murivel. But this, he doesn’t tell Ciri. Not yet, at least for he will postpone this for as long as he can.</p><p>But when they’ve prepared their little camp and the sun is dipping closer and closer to the horizon he knows he can’t delay any further if this is to be done today.</p><p>And it should be.</p><p>It’s necessary for them to make it to Ard Carraigh safely, but that doesn’t mean Jaskier wants to do it.</p><p>He heaves a sigh, seated on a half fallen apart wooden bench just outside of the barn, and calls Ciri over.</p><p>She comes quickly, but a frown mars her face as she sits down next to him, probably aware something is up. “Jaskier?”</p><p>Jaskier swallows and forces himself to look at Ciri, reminding himself that this is going to hurt her more than it will him and he needs to be strong for her, needs to be a comfort. “Remember when I said that sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to, for our own safety?”</p><p>Something he can’t quite name—fear, sadness, maybe panic—flashes in Ciri’s eyes before she squares her shoulders and asks: “What should I do?”</p><p>Jaskier’s heart breaks for her, so brave and willing to make sacrifices and he feels absolutely monstrous for being the one to ask it of her. He reaches out a hand and cups one of her cheeks in the palm of his hand. “You are by far the bravest person I know, cub.” Far braver, for sure, than many of the adults he knows and has known and he hates it, because she shouldn’t have to be.</p><p>He lets his eyes fall to a strand of hair that’s fallen away from where it was tucked behind her ear. “But we must hide, so we must ensure you blend in,” he says as he gently sweeps the strand of blonde hair—so close to white, so close to Geralt’s—back behind her ear.</p><p>Realization is quick to dawn in Ciri’s eyes and she lets out a wavering breath, eyes falling to her lap as she pulls at the edges of her long hair. “It will grow back,” she says, but her voice is a hoarse, trembling whisper and her eyes glint with unshed tears.</p><p>Jaskier pulls her to his side, hides the grief on his own face from her by pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “And it will be more magnificent than before.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He has Ciri sit in front of him on the ground while he remains on the bench, so he can reach her hair at a better angle.</p><p>Jaskier has tied her hair together just below the nape of her neck, so the longer part can easily be cut off with the his dagger in his hand. “Ready?” he asks, wanting to start only when Ciri wants to.</p><p>That is a choice he can give her, at least.</p><p>It takes a moment, Ciri taking a deep breath before she nods. “Can you sing?”</p><p>“What would you like to hear?” Jaskier asks, happy to offer her—and himself—any form of comfort and distraction.</p><p>“Something I don’t know.”</p><p>And so Jaskier sings a lullaby, the one his mother used to sing when he was little and restless despite the moon already being high in the sky and little Julian was expected to be asleep. He sings it louder than it’s meant to be sung, not because he prefers it that way but because he hopes that the louder his voice is, the less audible the swipes of his dagger are as he slowly and carefully cuts off Ciri’s hair.</p><p>He doesn’t make it too short. After having cut off the initial length, he trims and shapes and when he’s done she’s got chin-length hair.</p><p>“Are we done?” Ciri asks softly when he leans back.</p><p>“For now,” Jaskier says. “I have something in my pack to make it black. But we can do it in the morning. If you want to, of course.”</p><p><em>He</em> would certainly prefer to have her hair black, something completely opposite of long and blonde that no-one will be looking out for. But he also knows that it isn’t absolutely necessary, they can manage without. So he will let her choose whether she wants to or not.</p><p>Ciri turns around between his legs with a frown. “How would you do that?”</p><p>Jaskier smiles. “I know a lady in Novigrod, very lovely and very talented. Married, though and so when she went to see her lover she didn’t want to be recognized.”</p><p>The story lightens Ciri’s mood just as Jaskier had hoped and she giggles, looking at Jaskier with a mischievous glint in her eyes asks: “were you the lover?”</p><p>“Not in this story,” Jaskier laughs. “But she did share with me the way that she managed to hide, so to speak. She would grind coal to powder, mix it with a bit of oil and then massage it into her hair to make it look black.”</p><p>Ciri hums. “So it washes out?”</p><p>“It does. Has to be re-applied every few days as well, but I have enough to last us a month.”</p><p>“Okay,” Ciri nods. “We can do it tomorrow.” She reaches out a hand to touch the short edges of her hair and grimaces.</p><p>“The hardest part is done now,” Jaskier offers with a small smile and then pats the bench next to him in an invitation for her to join him there again.</p><p>They silently sit next to each other, watching as the sun sets, slowly dipping behind the horizon and paints the sky in hues of orange and purple and then, eventually, to midnight-blue.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re the one who did it,” Ciri admits softly after a while, and the admission catches Jaskier by surprise. “Geralt wouldn’t know what to do.”</p><p>A chuckle escapes Jaskier. “Not with the hair nor with you, I’m sure.”</p><p>“You know him well,” Ciri points out as she turns to look at him.</p><p>Jaskier sighs deeply, and his heart aches in his chest. “I used to think I knew him better than he knew himself.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“That is not a story for tonight, my dear.” Jaskier smiles sadly, his eyes on the horizon instead of on Ciri because he isn’t sure what she would see in them. Too much of what he doesn’t want to feel, he’s certain.</p><p>“But!” he perks up, and gives Ciri a grin that might look a bit forced around the edges but they both don’t mention <em>that</em>. “I will tell you of the time when there as a Kikimora to be killed and I saved our Witcher’s life!”</p><p>“Our?” Ciri asks with a laugh.</p><p>“Shush,” he waves a hand at her and thinks he’d really rather not talk about Geralt at all. But it’ll be a good distraction for Ciri and an even better way for her to learn more about the man who is her Destiny.</p><p>So he sucks up his own feelings, tells himself it’s a blessing to have good memories of Geralt because he can look at his life, his past and be happy for all he’s experienced, and shares those good memories with Ciri. </p><p>In the morning, after massaging coal powder into Ciri’s hair Jaskier will give her a worn, brown cloak that Essi purchased in Murivel. Ciri’s blue, Cintran cloak will be shoved to the bottom of her pack because Jaskier can’t possibly ask her to either bury or burn it. Not this, her last comfort and her last tangible memory of Cintra.</p><p>But tonight she sits next to him on the bench as he tells her stories of Geralt underneath a star-lit sky, the blue cloak pulled tightly around her even if it isn’t all that cold. Tonight, she sleeps on her side, her back against his chest while covered with the cloak that feels more like a lifeline than a garment.</p><p>He is doing the right thing, he tells himself.</p><p>Even if it doesn’t feel that way.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Geralt follows the rumor trail of a blonde girl to Braemar, two days’ west of Murivel.</p><p>He’s unused to tracking down a human, or multiple ones. Usually, he’s approached when there’s a contract, for even if people sneer—or cower—at the mere sight of him they still want him to get rid of their monsters. But now, he needs to ask for information. Needs to <em>pay</em> for it, and even then half the time people are loathe to tell him if they’ve seen a blonde girl passing by because what does a Witcher need with that information? He casts Axii on those people, hoping to obtain his information because while he knows that a sword against ones neck and a Witcher’s anger in their face will have them talk as well, he has at least somewhat of a reputation to uphold—a reputation courtesy of Jaskier and one which he’s loathe to lose.</p><p>But his coin and <em>persuasion skills</em> have now brought him to Braemar and according to the man at the stables the blonde girl is still here.</p><p>Being so close to having found Ciri makes Geralt’s fingers itch, his heart a tad quicker in his chest like it’s trying to match the itch in his fingers.</p><p>He’s on his way to the local tavern, because it is always a good first place to check, when he hears a ruckus from the alleyway just up ahead.</p><p>“–are coming with us!” a man shouts.</p><p>“Why?” a woman asks in return and the agitation is clear in her voice, but the closer Geralt gets the clearer her fear becomes as well, the smell of it strong in the air.</p><p>Another man scoffs. “You’re not in a position to ask questions, girl.”</p><p>Geralt frowns, a woman being threatened by two men is never a good thing. Especially not in streets as empty as these seem to suddenly be.</p><p>“Girl!” the woman laughs, full of fake bravado. “I’m sorry to say I’m well past the age where random men harassing me can call me <em>girl</em>.”</p><p>Feet are moving, clothing rustling and a body is slammed against a wall.</p><p>“Let me go!” the woman screams. “I swear, unhand me now or –”</p><p>“Or what?” one of the man snickers.</p><p>Geralt heaves a heavy sigh as he steps around the corner. In the alleyway are three men and a woman, not a girl for certain—as she’s claimed—but one could be deceived by her rather youthful features if they were to just cast a quick glance. Three men and a woman, who all turn to look the moment he appears.</p><p>He draws his steel sword, eyes on the men and cursing himself silently because he’s got better things to do than helping out a random woman in trouble. But that doesn’t stop him from saying: “Let her go. Or else I’ll have to <em>make</em> you.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Geralt is seated opposite of the woman now, in a dark tavern corner so they can talk—or rather, he can ask his questions and she answers them.</p><p>The woman, the <em>blonde </em>woman, upon being rescued from what Geralt now realizes were Nilfgaardians had introduced herself as Essi Daven.</p><p>The blonde girl Geralt has been looking for.</p><p>A friend of Jaskier’s, who has conspired with the bard to take Ciri from him.</p><p>On the inside, Geralt is seething. He’s as angry as he was atop that mountain and while back then his words were cruel and unfair, now he wants to take Jaskier by the shoulders and shake him until he tells him why the fuck he thinks this was any of his business to get involved in. <em>Now</em> it is the bard meddling with his life, his plans and he’s made not only himself but Ciri a victim of his whims and idiotic plan.</p><p>Geralt has his ale clenched in his hand, lest he punch the table, the wall, <em>Essi</em>.</p><p>Jaskier, the fool, the idiot, the man who is now in much danger as Ciri is.</p><p>“Fuck,” Geralt curses. “Why the fuck did you think this was a good idea?”</p><p>“Me?” Essi asks, thinking it was <em>her</em> Geralt was referring to. “I’m just the messenger at this point,” she replies with a shrug. “Besides, Jaskier found her already halfway kidnapped by <em>Nilfgaard</em>. So perhaps it wasn’t a truly terrible idea.”</p><p>Geralt frowns. Yes, he sees that leaving Ciri alone at the inn was a bad choice, but honestly: “Jaskier is just a bard. What makes him think he is more capable than me?”</p><p>How does Jaskier plan to <em>not die</em>, Geralt thinks and the thought of the other dying makes something in his heart twist and hurt.</p><p>“Just a bard?” Essi asks with a huff. “Before this mess of a war, sure he was. But he’s not as <em>stupid</em> as you make him sound, Witcher. He’s capable and he’s loyal and he cares more than you’ve ever deserved with how I heard you treated him.”</p><p>She must be a good <em>friend</em> of Jaskier’s if she knows all about how he treated the bard, Geralt thinks and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Because she’s right, he knows that now. Jaskier isn’t stupid and he does care but that doesn’t mean he can just go and <em>kidnap </em>Ciri. “He has no <em>right</em> to interfere,” he grunts, even if the fact that he saved Ciri from Nilfgaard is both a tremendous relief and worry at the same time.</p><p>“He is doing what he thinks is best,” Essi defends her friend with arms crossed in front of her chest. “And from where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what was needed.”</p><p>Geralt resists the urge to sigh. There is no use arguing with this woman over whether or not Jaskier’s choice was the right one. It’s made, the damage done and now it’s up to Geralt to fix it. As always.</p><p>“Where is he taking her?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Essi shrugs and then frowns. “Didn’t he write you a letter though?”</p><p>“A letter?” Geralt asks and is about to say that no, Jaskier did in fact not write him a letter, when he remembers the poem carelessly shoved into his pack.</p><p>
  <em>Ah, fuck</em>
</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He gets himself a room and spends the night reading the poem <em>Jaskier</em> has left him countless times.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>As Winter fast approaches,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Southern warmth is chased away.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Spring and Summer now long gone, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>and even Autumn days have passed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now comes the time of cold and darkness,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Where snow falls every day.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Now cubs are no longer cubs,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And even pretty dandelions hide.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Find shelter from the Winter,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Deep down and faraway.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>In forests white,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Silence reigns.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>On mountains high,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It seems all light has gone astray.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Yet not all hope is lost,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sunlight only momentarily gone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gone until Spring comes again,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Luring both cubs and dandelions from their hideaway.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Surely, it’s not the bard’s best work—Geralt does pay attention enough to notice—and it’s an indication in what kind of hurry he’d had to have been while it.</p><p>Essi had told him this wasn’t the original plan, or even the backup of the original plan which has Geralt worried for the rest of the <em>plan</em> Jaskier has.</p><p>A plan that’s supposedly explained in this rather underwhelming piece of poetry.</p><p><em>It’s art, Geralt. It’s about messages and metaphors!</em> Jaskier’s words come to mind and sitting on the small bed with only a small candle to light the room Geralt re-reads the poem thinking of messages and metaphors.</p><p>And that’s when he sees it.</p><p>Cubs, dandelions, it’s rather obvious now that he’s looking at it with the correct pair of eyes. But that’s a mere reference to Ciri and Jaskier themselves, fleeing from the southern warmth that’s sure to be Nilfgaard. And when he reads <em>In forests white</em> and <em>On mountains high</em> again he realizes that these can only be translations.</p><p>White Forest, mountain high, it’s Elder.</p><p>Jaskier is taking Ciri to Kaedwen. Or, more precise, he’s taking her to Ard Carraigh.</p><p>Geralt stares at the note for a few moments, unseeing. Jaskier is taking Ciri to Ard Carraigh for him, so afterwards he can take her to Kaer Morhen.</p><p>He sleeps that night, angry still but at least now he knows who Ciri is with and that Jaskier has a plan that perhaps isn’t completely shit.</p><p>When he leaves his room that morning he is met with the sleepy face of Essi holding a lute.</p><p>But when Geralt sees the lute, the details of the woodwork and the detailed gold-lined decorations he realizes it’s not <em>hers.</em></p><p>It’s Jaskier’s.</p><p>There are… a shocking amount of emotions that suddenly run rampage through his body at a speed too quick for him to properly name them. It’s overwhelming, just like most things with Jaskier are.</p><p>He raises his eyes to look at Essi, trying for a impassive attitude as he asks: “Yes?”</p><p>“I’m sure you recognize this.”</p><p>Oh does Geralt recognize it, and the whole barrage of memories that come with it too. He nods.</p><p>“Jaskier gave it to me, for safekeeping. Return it to him from me,” Essi says and gives him a steady look and her voice is full of warning and protectiveness when she says: “It’s the least you can do for him.”</p><p>Geralt isn’t sure if this is a command, a punishment or an olive-branch that he is being given here.</p><p>He takes the lute from Essi nonetheless thinking that in the worst case, he might actually be able to hit Jaskier on the head with the thing for being as <em>stupid</em> as he has been.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It’s been raining for three days.</p><p>Ciri is miserable, Jaskier is miserable and even Poppy is miserable after they’ve travelled through downpour and mud for what feels like three <em>weeks</em> instead of days.</p><p>After this much rain, everything is wet and this close to Winter without any sun in the sky the cold seems to have crept under skin and into bones.</p><p>Jaskier keeps Ciri pressed close to his chest, hoping to shelter her from at least some of the rain because at the moment, it’s the only comfort he can offer her.</p><p>At least the rain has been the worst thing about their two weeks of traveling so far, which is a relief for sure. Jaskier is still on edge, still on high alert and keeping his ears and eyes wide open for anyone that might be following them. But after checking behind them almost every ten minutes for a good four days, now he’s comfortable enough to only do so every half hour. So far, it seems Essi’s ruse has worked quite successfully and neither Nilfgaard nor Geralt are following them.</p><p>Or rather, Nilfgaard isn’t following them and Geralt is keeping his distance. It’s something Jaskier worried about at first. That Geralt would find them and confront him, going against Jaskier’s whole plan for Ciri and Geralt to not be seen together. But he hasn’t heard nor seen the Witcher which is a relief, for sure—in more ways than one for if he is completely honest with himself he is almost dreading seeing Geralt again, too afraid of what it will do to his still fragile heart.</p><p>Spending so much time with Ciri, sharing stories of Geralt and answering whatever questions she might have about the man who is to be her parent now has harshly dragged Jaskier out of the illusion that he’s over Geralt. For yes, he can write off the fondness in his voice whenever he shares yet another story as reminiscing the good times they shared. But if he, somehow, had gotten rid of his love for Geralt in their two years apart—a feat he hadn’t even managed in their twenty odd years together—then his heart would have no business feeling so full whenever he talks about those good times.</p><p>And yet, he thinks.</p><p><em>And yet here I am</em>.</p><p>Ah, how he remembers that night which was a blessing and a curse both at the same time. For that night gave him his love for Geralt as well as Ciri.</p><p>“Jask!”</p><p>As if she knows she’s on his mind, Ciri calls him out of his thoughts and back into their cold, wet reality.</p><p>“A farm, do you see it?” she asks, excited and hopeful at the same time.</p><p>He looks up and does indeed see the farm and realizes that he has to make a choice now.</p><p>Should they knock on the door and ask for a night’s reprieve from the rain? It’s a risk, but at this point so is staying out in the rain.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Zofia is a lightly-greying woman who ushers them to a big fire in the kitchen first and asks questions about who they are and where they’re headed second while her husband, Marcin, hovers in the doorway and watches the whole ordeal with his arms crossed in front of his chest and resignation on his face.</p><p>It makes Jaskier think that Ciri and him are not the first wet travelers to show up on their doorstep.</p><p>He introduces them as Julian and Fiona, traveling north to visit distant family. An easy enough lie, but when Ciri lowers her hood and he sees that the coal in her hair has started to wash-out due to all the rain his heart jumps in his chest.</p><p>A quick glance to Zofia and Marcin tells Jaskier that they have noticed as well.</p><p>Jaskier takes a step forward, Ciri now half behind his frame and he feels one of Ciri’s hands clenching his cloak. He has a hand on his hip, where he hides one of his daggers and the other hand raised in the air as he starts: “We are –”</p><p>“It’s all right, dear,” Zofia interrupts him with a shake of her head and a warm smile on her lips. “War might not be knocking on our door but words of it sure do.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t relax, not fully but he relaxes his hand away from his dagger.</p><p>Zofia waves a hand in the air. “We are the only farm around for at least a days’ ride and the weather here is unpredictable. You’re not the first to need shelter.”</p><p>“There’s actually the Dully farm two hours away,” Marcin grunts.</p><p>“And right bastards they are! They’d never take in those who only need a fire and a bed,” Zofia huffs and looks offended at the mere thought of turning away wet travelers such as Ciri and Jaskier. “Now come, take off those cloaks of yours and I will make some tea.”</p><p>That night, as they’re lying in their shared bed for the night, Ciri asks him in a whisper: “What would you have done if they hadn’t been kind?”</p><p>“But they are kind,” Jaskier offers instead of a reply. He knows what he would have done, he might not be able to physically fight a Nilfgaardian soldier but Geralt has taught him enough over the years that he can handle a middle-aged farmer couple.</p><p>But Ciri doesn’t have to know to what lengths he will go to keep her safe.</p><p>Somehow, though, she seems to know anyway. Something that is evident when she says: “Geralt says he tries not to kill humans.”</p><p>Jaskier holds Ciri just a bit closer to his chest as he stares into the darkness, thinking of what this war has made him do—what this war has made <em>him.</em></p><p>“I’m not Geralt.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Zofia offers them fresh bread for breakfast that morning and kindly doesn’t say anything as the both of them have more than is technically polite.</p><p>“You’re headed north, yea?” Marcin asks Jaskier when breakfast is finished and Ciri is helping Zofia with the washing up.</p><p>Carefully, Jaskier nods.</p><p>“Good,” Marcin nods to himself. “There is a fence at the northern edge of our property that needs fixing. Need an extra pair of hands for it.”</p><p>Jaskier promises to help out as means of repaying the couple for their kindness and so when Ciri and Jaskier set out not long after breakfast, Marcin joins them on his old stallion.</p><p>They reach the broken fence in less than half an hour’s ride, and a pleasant one at that. For today finally the rain has stopped and while the sky still looks ominously dark and stormy at least both they and the weather are dry.</p><p>“I can gather some berries in the woods while you work,” Ciri offers.</p><p>Jaskier looks around, just in case, an automatic action by now even if he doesn’t see anything other than trees and empty farm fields. “Just stay close,” he says.</p><p>When Ciri nods and goes over to some nearby bushes in search for anything edible, Marcin watches her go and says: “It’s tough sometimes, having to protect those you love.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>A wry smile stains Marcin’s face. “We have a son, Bogdan. We wanted more, but alas it’s not in our Destiny.” He waves a hand in the air with a deep sigh. “We were happy, though. A family, and an extra pair of hands on the farm is needed. But here, there is nothing. It’s no life for a teenager. Sometimes you have to let them go to give them what’s best for them,” Marcin says and his eyes have that faraway look of someone stuck in memories, stuck in the past.</p><p>Jaskier wonders if it is his presence—in absence of that of a son—or Ciri’s that brought this on and for once, he doesn’t know quite what to say.</p><p>His hesitation must show on his face, because Marcin chuckles and slaps Jaskier’s back, melancholy gone as quick as it seems to have come. “No commentary on what you’re doing now. Just advice, you know. For when she’s older.”</p><p>Now, Jaskier certainly doesn’t know what to say because he realizes then that Marcin must think Ciri his daughter. Perhaps thinks the war has killed her mother and it is now left to him to raise her on his own and he is offering parental advice.</p><p>He looks at Ciri and thinks that although kind, the advice is wasted on him. Ciri is not his daughter and he doesn’t have a choice, he needs to let her go. The fact that by now, he wishes he could keep her by his side a useless tidbit of knowledge.</p><p>Yet another person who has a piece of his heart that’s not part of his Destiny.</p><p>“Come on,” Marcin says then, “time to fix the fence.”</p><p>When they actually start working on the fence, Jaskier realizes that it is quick, relatively easy work and all that is really needed of him is providing an extra set of hands.</p><p>They finish quickly, and in less than an hour Ciri and Jaskier are off again, a watery sun in the sky and Ard Carraigh a five days’ ride ahead of them.</p><p>“They are nice people,” Ciri says as she settles into the saddle after having waved Marcin off at their departure.</p><p>“They are,” Jaskier agrees and he will admit he is both relieved and happily surprised. “So you see, they are still out there. The good people,” he says and the words are meant as much for Ciri as they are for himself.</p><p>One of Ciri’s hands pats his knee, and she must have his admission from the previous night on her mind as she says: “You are good people too, Jask.”</p><p>“We both care, cub. We both are.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The lute turns out to be a punishment.</p><p>A constant reminder to Geralt of what Jaskier has done, how he has meddled and stuck his nose into places where it doesn't belong.</p><p>A punishment to look upon it and be reminded of what he himself has done, how he's failed and what he's said.</p><p>A punishment to be reminded of all the memories attached to the instrument, to their first <em>adventure </em>together, the songs written in his honor and telling his stories and, perhaps the worst of all, the quiet nights in front of a fire when the only noise filling the air was the soft tunes of the lute and Jaskier's gentle singing.</p><p>It is a punishment.</p><p>Until it isn't.</p><p>Until Geralt realizes that the eyes following him whenever he walks into a tavern aren't just contempt. They are searching, looking behind him as if they're hoping to find <em>someone else</em> with him, and it angers him that he had known Ciri was in danger but hadn’t realized danger was sitting at the table next to them and sleeping in the room opposite of their own.</p><p>Until it becomes clear what kind of danger Jaskier has put himself in, willingly, even after all that he has told the one man he considers so much more than a friend.</p><p>Until he finally admits to himself that despite it all, despite the danger and the war and his worry for both Ciri and Jaskier, he is anxious to be reunited with the bard for he's unsure what the other thinks of him now—whether he will be forgiven, whether fondness has made place for hatred, whether he is to blame for breaking his own heart.</p><p>Until he touches the soft wood of the lute, the gentle curves and the graceful carvings and in the dark forest with worry and loneliness on his mind, the lute becomes a comfort.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Tomorrow they will reach Ard Carriagh.</p><p>Ciri is the embodiment of excitement now that she can almost see herself being reunited with Geralt.</p><p>It’s a sentiment Jaskier doesn’t share, even though he doesn’t tell her that.</p><p>Tell her that he dreads the reunion with Geralt.</p><p>It’s not just a fear for his own broken heart to end up even <em>more</em> broken, though, that has him wish they were a month out of town rather than a mere day.</p><p>For tonight, with Ciri excited they reach their destination tomorrow Jaskier realizes that that also means that this is the last night he will spend with Ciri.</p><p>Tomorrow, he will have to let her go.</p><p>“Jask?” Ciri asks, noticing his drop in mood now that she’s finished gathering firewood. “You okay?”</p><p>Jaskier looks up at her and gives her a small, watery smile. “I was just thinking…” he starts and falters. She seems oblivious to their upcoming parting tomorrow and who is he to ruin the good mood she’s in? So instead, he says “I was thinking we should touch up your hair again.”</p><p>She frowns and reaches up a hand to the edges of her hair. “Is it fading already again?”</p><p>“Not too bad, but I’d like to do it just in case. Big city, you never know who we’re going to run into and I’d rather be safe,” Jaskier says.</p><p>Leaving out the fact that her hair still looks fine, it would certainly still last the whole of tomorrow.</p><p>He’s not doing this because it needs to be done.</p><p>He just wants to sit at the fire, Ciri sitting cross-legged in front of him as they both sing ridiculous songs as he rubs coal-dust into her hair one last time.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier thinks that if he were to be in Ard Carraigh any other time, he would have loved the city.</p><p>Here, the war seems far away still with people in good spirits on what looks like a late Autumn harvest market day that’s drawn many to the inner walls of the city. It’d be the perfect light atmosphere to relish in and surely by nightfall the taverns are full with satisfied people looking for entertainment.</p><p>Yes, normally Jaskier would be in his element in a place like this.</p><p>Now, though, all he thinks is that it’s the perfect ruse for Ciri and him to wander through town in search of Geralt. No-one will ask why a father and daughter are out buying supplies, after all.</p><p>But the longer they wander the market the more he feels eyes watching them. Someone that knows well enough to stay out of Jaskier’s line of sight, to not come too close but Jaskier feels the prickle at the back of his head, feels the ominous sensation of knowing you’re being watched all the same.</p><p>“Fiona,” he calls, a slight urgency to his tone and he lays an arm around Ciri’s shoulder to pull her a bit closer to his side.</p><p>She goes easily, without protest or question. Well aware of the stakes and, by now, well versed in the steps of this stealthy dance of hiding and evading in plain sight that Jaskier’s taught her these last few weeks.</p><p>“Look at these cloaks,” he says as he turns the both of them to the clothing merchant on his left hand side. The new angle providing him the opportunity to cast a quick glance across the market previously behind them to hopefully catch sight of their tail.</p><p>His eyes sweep over the crowd, quick and calculating and passing by merchants, farmers and locals—who surely weren’t trying to burn holes into the back of his head—until they fall upon a familiar figure.</p><p>There, standing a mere few stalls away from them with his face cast half in shadow is a face Jaskier would recognize even if it was cast in complete darkness.</p><p>Geralt.</p><p>Amber and blue eyes meet and for a moment the world around Jaskier falls away except for the thunder that is his own heart beating almost erratically in his chest.</p><p>Suave, he’d wanted to be suave and flippant upon meeting Geralt again but here he is, instead, rooted to the ground and a unbidden gasp half-way up his throat.</p><p>Besides him, Ciri leans forward a bit to peer around him to see what’s captured his attention and when she sees Geralt, she <em>does</em> gasp.</p><p>“Fiona,” Jaskier starts, soft and warning because now is not the time for grand gestures.</p><p>But before he can add anything to his warning, Ciri darts around him and towards the Witcher at the same time that Geralt takes hurried, big steps to close the distance between them.</p><p>“Geralt!” Ciri exclaims and barrels straight into Geralt, her arms winding around him in a hug.</p><p>"Cub," Geralt murmurs, so soft and caring and Jaskier would have to be blind not to notice the way the other’s shoulders relax as he holds Ciri in his arms. Geralt raises his eyes, looking at Jaskier over the top of Ciri's head, and his voice is just as caring and relieved as he whispers: "Jaskier."</p><p>Well fuck, Jaskier thinks in lieu of addressing the whole blizzard of emotions raging through him, so much for <em>stealth</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART IV</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>He had expected a whirlwind of emotions upon seeing Geralt again and he had been absolutely right in that prediction. In fact, it is probably <em>worse</em> what with Geralt’s soft, relieved whisper of his name.</p><p>Part of him feels offended, really, for how <em>dare</em> the Witcher be relieved at seeing him when last they spoke he wished for Jaskier <em>gone</em>.</p><p>But, he thinks as he plasters a smile on his face and walks over to Geralt and Ciri with his arms spread wide, important things and damage control first. He can deal with his—and Geralt’s—feelings later.</p><p>“Geralt! What a pleasant surprise. Fiona and I had <em>just</em> been wondering if we’d run into you again,” he says, not trying to keep his voice down.</p><p>They might’ve gotten away without anyone seeing them together. Easy and quick, Jaskier going into the city with Ciri and Geralt leaving it with her. No-one would have been any wiser, no merchants or guards would have just seen a girl throw herself at the White Wolf and Jaskier wouldn’t be feeling the beginnings of a tension headache brewing.</p><p>But <em>nothing</em> with Geralt ever works out the way he wants it to, so he supposes the situation does live up to expectations.</p><p>Which means Jaskier needs to talk now that everyone’s still listening, and give them the right gossip to spread around. “We owe you, don’t we dear? For saving us from that nasty monster a few days ago.”</p><p>Ciri is quick to take the step that brings her back at Jaskier's side, a flash of guilt in her eyes. “Perhaps we can pay back his heroic deeds with dinner?”</p><p>Jaskier can't berate her for her excitement. Lays a gentle hand against her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly and instead gives her a proud smile for catching on quickly. “Certainly! A bath too, I’d say. We have rooms at the inn. Why don’t you join us there? We can order you a bath and dinner afterwards. Our treat," he says and turns his eyes to Geralt with a sweet smile, "for saving us.”</p><p>Geralt, for all that he looks positively lost, nods.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>As he herds Geralt and Ciri to the inn, Jaskier's thoughts and feelings run amok.</p><p>There is worry at being found out this close to the finish line and anger towards Geralt for potentially causing them to be found out.</p><p>Below that, his heart beats to the familiar tune of heartache. His eyes burn and his hands are clenched in his fists as familiar grief and loss swirl through him.</p><p>But most of all, he feels insecure.</p><p>For he doesn’t know where he stands with the Witcher.</p><p>He feels justified in his decision, the reckless reunion only fortifying that feeling, but does Geralt feel the same? He always thought he could read the other like a book, but after the mountain he doesn’t know if he ever really could. Perhaps this time, too, the other is simmering below the surface just waiting to explode on Jaskier for having taken Ciri.</p><p>Or, for simply existing in any part of Geralt’s life again.</p><p>It’s been a while, he will admit, that <em>if life could give me one blessing </em>echoed through his head. But now, it feels as if it’s on repeat and re-opening the gaping hole in his heart he thought he’d successfully sewn back together.</p><p>But seeing Geralt again, he simply can’t tell himself that he’s over this—over Geralt.</p><p>Which is infuriating.</p><p>His head believes he deserves better, why can’t his heart just accept that too?</p><p>Geralt doesn’t want him and he, frankly, shouldn’t want Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>By the time they reach their room, Ciri’s excitement has all but evaporated and the relief has bled off of Geralt’s face.</p><p>For Jaskier has set a quick pace without so much of a spoken word, a tell-tale sign that anger is brewing beneath the surface. Anger and annoyance, at Geralt for anything—for <em>everything</em>. At his own heart for betraying him and at the unfairness of the situation, for he doesn’t want to love Geralt and he doesn’t want to lose Ciri but Destiny has never cared for what <em>he</em> wants and she has not started to now, either.</p><p>And so, the moment the door to their room closes, the proverbial pot boils over—because out of all that Jaskier feels, anger and annoyance are the easier emotions to deal with. They allow him to turn murderous eyes to Geralt, an accusing finger raised at the Witcher and they morph his tone into something ugly and petty. “Have you no tact whatsoever? I understand from Ciri, but I’d expected better from you. This is—”</p><p>“You’re right.”</p><p>“—exactly the reason why— Wait. What?” Jaskier’s hand falls to his side and his anger makes quick way for confusion because he couldn’t have heard that right, could he?</p><p>He’d expected a face-off, an argument, not Geralt agreeing with him, his face a weird mixture between gratefulness and relief.</p><p>“You made the right choice. Hid her well,” Geralt says, glancing at Ciri’s cropped, dark hair quickly before turning surprisingly fond eyes back to Jaskier, “kept her safe. Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re thanking me?” Jaskier feels very much as if the rug has been pulled out from under him and he’s scrambling to catch up with this surprisingly mellow side of Geralt.</p><p>Unexpected to say the least, and Jaskier wonders if it’s because Geralt has learned. If losing both Yennefer and him has taught Geralt to be thankful. If the time spent on his has own shown him that perhaps, deep down, he <em>missed </em>Jaskier.</p><p>Oh, Jaskier’s traitorous heart sure does hope so even if his mind tells him that it’s most likely Ciri to have brought out this side of Geralt.</p><p>“You risked your life protecting her. I… hadn’t expected you’d do that. Not after,” Geralt waves a hand in the air, a guilty frown on his face.</p><p>There are many words that Jaskier could fill the silence with that now hangs between them. Some are angry, others spiteful and others hurt too much to even think about.</p><p>But he keeps them all locked inside, crosses his arms in front of his chest and, for once, leaves the speaking up to Geralt.</p><p>The only sound is a soft rustling from one of the beds, where Ciri has settled herself down and is pointedly <em>not</em> looking at the two of them in what Jaskier supposes is an attempt to give them privacy.</p><p>Part of him wishes she would speak up, so he wouldn’t have to deal with this whole ordeal of a conversation. He’s thought of it many times the past few weeks. Had expected anger, annoyance, a reluctant apology and in none of the scenarios had their reunion been good, exactly. But somehow this guilt, this regret, is <em>worse</em>. For it gives his heart just the tiniest bit of space to long and hope and all those other things he should not.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmurs then, his eyes cast down to the floor as if he can’t find it within himself to look at Jaskier in this moment of vulnerability, “I shouldn’t have said it. I was angry but it’s… it’s not true.”</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry, it’s not true</em>
</p><p>How, Jaskier wonders, can one soar and fall at the same time? How can a heart be full of love and full of grief? How can one feel so many contradictions that, in the end, nothing but numb static remains?</p><p>
  <em>I’m sorry, it’s not true</em>
</p><p>“Well,” he manages, but only barely and his voice is as hoarse as his skin is pale, his hands tremble as much as his heart seems to heal and bleed simultaneously, “well that’s good.”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound good,” Ciri remarks softly, worry clear in her voice.</p><p>“No, no, all fine,” Jaskier says weakly and waves a hand in the air, sending Ciri a small smile and taking the chance to turn away from Geralt. “You must be hungry. And you, Geralt? Starving, I’m sure! How about I go down and get us all some stew now that this all has been sorted, hm?”</p><p>Ciri is frowning at him and Geralt has that rather constipated expression on his face which means he’s unhappy but will refuse to acknowledge it.</p><p>Jaskier ignores them both, and flees the room.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Fight with the missus?” the barkeep asks with a curious raised eyebrow as Jaskier waits at the bar for the stew he’s ordered.</p><p>He was offered for it to be brought up but had declined, to the great amusement of the barkeep.</p><p>“Not exactly,” he mumbles in reply, lips downcast into an unhappy frown and he considers asking for a shot of vodka to take the edge off.</p><p>If only it had been a fight, he thinks almost bitterly. Then he’d have been prepared. Then he’d have had the right words to say, angry and cutting. Words that he’s had bottled up ever since their parting on that damned mountain.</p><p>If it had been a <em>fight</em>, he would have gotten it all off his chest, could have taken Geralt’s own anger and annoyance and called it <em>closure</em>.</p><p>But he’s further from closure than he’s ever been, feeling like he’s back with his knees on the beach with his tears drowning him the same way he wished the ocean would. For he was forced to take regret and apologies and call it forgiveness.</p><p>But forgiveness is like an ember re-kindling a fire of love deep within his heart that he wishes he could just extinguish. For he might have Geralt’s apology, he will never have his love.</p><p>He just wishes he wasn’t so far away from accepting that.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Edge most certainly <em>not</em> taken off, Jaskier makes his way back upstairs balancing three bowls of stew. He knocks the door with his foot when he’s upstairs and gives Ciri a grateful smile when she opens up and takes one of the bowls from him.</p><p>“Thanks my dear,” he says as he puts the bowls down onto the small ledge that’s supposedly a desk.</p><p>“Uh-huh,” she says and when she’s put her own bowl down twirls around to wave a hand in Geralt’s direction with an excited grin. “Did you see?”</p><p>“See?” he asks and turns, letting his eyes sweep across the room, both curious and nervous at finding out what’s captured Ciri’s excitement.</p><p>Eventually, even if he tries <em>not </em>to look at the Witcher, his eyes fall on Geralt.</p><p>Or rather, they fall onto the bed next to him, where a familiar instrument lies.</p><p>
  <em>Sweet Melitele</em>
</p><p>It’s a damned good thing he isn’t holding the stew anymore, for he would’ve dropped the bowls right down to the floor at the very sight of his beloved lute.</p><p>He rushes forward and when he gently picks up his lute, when he finally gets to lay a palm against her smooth panes again, a calm falls over him. He’s felt naked ever since he left her behind with Essi.</p><p>But how did it end up here?</p><p>He turns, looking at Geralt seated on the bed. “How?”</p><p>“Had it in my room. Across the hall,” Geralt gives a small wave but his eyes are resting on the lute with an unreadable expression. Then, his voice softer—similar to the gleam in his eyes—he adds: “I was asked to give it back to you.”</p><p>Jaskier isn’t sure what surprises him more. The fact that Essi entrusted his lute to Geralt, or the fact that the Witcher seems to have taken such good care of it.</p><p>He holds the lute just a tad tighter to his chest, his most beloved possession. It’s not <em>just</em> because it’s a magnificent instrument. No, there are so many memories intertwined with her sole existence in Jaskier’s possession and he’d never part with her willingly. He dares a glance at Geralt.</p><p>So many memories, so many <em>emotions.</em> He wonders if Geralt knows what she means to him.</p><p>Ciri, unbeknownst to Jaskier’s inner turmoil, claps her hands together with a grin. “You can play for us at Kaer Morhen!”</p><p>“Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier chokes out, the name of the Wolf Witcher keep strange coming off his tongue.</p><p>“You knew that’s where we were going,” Ciri says, head leaned to the side. Then, she turns big, pleading eyes to Geralt. “He can come, right? He’s brought me all the way, surely he can come!”</p><p>There is surprisingly little hesitation on Geralt’s face at Ciri’s excited question. And where Jaskier might have expected a frown or disapproval there is, instead, fondness. “If you want,” he murmurs. An obvious reply to Ciri’s question. His eyes, however, are not on Ciri as he speaks.</p><p>They are on Jaskier.</p><p>Jaskier, who is pointedly <em>not</em> looking at Geralt because he can’t bear to see that expression on the other’s face as the offer lands heavily in his chest and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Over two decades and he’s never once been asked. And now he can go, a long awaited invitation extended because Ciri wants it to.</p><p>“Of course!” Ciri says excitedly.</p><p>Jaskier finds that, despite it all, he still <em>wants</em> to. Has wanted for years and years, greedy as he is and now the opportunity is right in front of him. But no matter how much he wants, he knows that he shouldn’t lest he shatter the remains of his heart.</p><p>Moreover: “I can’t.”</p><p>There is silence for one, two heartbeats and then Geralt says: “you would be welcome.”</p><p>“That’s…” Jaskier starts and trails off. It’s <em>something</em> all right, however, “that’s not what this is about.”</p><p>“You would abandon me?” Ciri asks with a slight waver to her soft voice, eyes pleading and confused as they rest on Jaskier.</p><p>“Cub,” Jaskier starts, his chest tight and his fingers itching to give her a hug.</p><p>But the confusion is soon making way for understanding, resignation and something that comes sickly close to disappointment and anger. “You would, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>The words are like a dagger to his chest, but they're not <em>wrong</em>. Jaskier lets his shoulders sag under the weight of the choice he has made. “I can’t, my darling.”</p><p>Ciri draws in a shuddering breath, looking from him to Geralt and then back to Jaksier again with a deep frown. “Can’t, or won’t?”</p><p>The honest answer is that Jaskier truly <em>can't</em>. He wanted Ciri to be safe, and he's ensured that now. But it is still war, the Service is still expecting updates and Jaskier still has a job to do.</p><p>Just because he is now offered what he's wanted to have for so long doesn't mean he's in any position to take it.</p><p>But before he can answer Ciri—although what could he say?—she turns on her heel, opens the door and stalks out of the room.</p><p>"Fiona!" Geralt calls, standing up from the bed in a flash to go after her.</p><p>"I will be in <em>your</em> room," is all Ciri replies before she slams the door close, leaving Jaskier alone with Geralt.</p><p>Geralt, who turns angry eyes to Jaskier.</p><p>Ah, Jaskier thinks bitterly, at least this is familiar.</p><p>But this time, Geralt doesn't shout. Doesn't hurl angry words his way. This time, when Geralt's eyes find Jaskier's resignation falls over them instead. “Why do you insist on hurting the both of you by not coming?”</p><p>“Geralt...”</p><p>Geralt frowns. “If this is because of me—”</p><p>“For once things aren’t because of you,” Jaskier says with a laugh harsher than he'd intended. “I’ve been gone too long as it is. I can excuse it, sure. But any longer and they'll get suspicious and <em>that</em> will get me hanged."</p><p>“Hanged?" Geralt demands, voice low and eyes dark. "For what?”</p><p>Jaskier sighs with a wry smile. “Treason.”</p><p>“Who did you swear loyalty to?” Geralt growls.</p><p>“As if I’m not allowed?” Jaskier shoots back, anger burning in his gut because the <em>audacity</em>!</p><p>“Who.”</p><p>Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively. “The Redanian Secret Service.”</p><p>Geralt lets out a harsh breath and shakes his head, stalking up to Jaskier until he's right in front of him. “That is by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever done," he says, harsh and disappointed.</p><p>"Oh <em>you </em>don't get to judge me about doing stupid things!" Jaskier snaps now that he is finally allowed to be upset and angry. A scowl mars his face and he wags an angry finger at Geralt. "No, no I have made my decision and I will bear the consequences of it. Call it duty, call it Destiny, even you must realize by now you can't run away from it, <em>Geralt</em>."</p><p>Geralt's mouth shuts with a click, no reply coming from his lips but his glare hasn't lessened.</p><p>“I would go if I could. For Ciri's benefit, mind you. She deserves much better than whatever hand Destiny has dealt her. But treason isn’t forgotten or forgiven just because Winter has passed. I will be on the run for the rest of my life. This war is bigger than all of us," Jaskier says mournfully, a wry look on his face.</p><p>Geralt scowls. "And you joined it."</p><p>"Because I am not afraid to face facts," Jaskier retorts tartly.</p><p>Geralt glares at him for a moment, something Jaskier can't define raging in his eyes like a storm. But the Witcher doesn't say anything, merely turns on his heel and just like Ciri leaves the room with the door slamming behind him.</p><p>Well, Jaskier supposes that that's finally the end of <em>that</em> conversation.</p><p>He should be happy, he thinks.</p><p>But all he feels is numb.</p><p> </p><p>--- </p><p> </p><p>That night, just as he had done at the refugee camp, he draws up his hood and slips away under the cover of darkness.</p><p>By the time the sun rises and Ciri bursts into the room with an apology on her tongue, he is long gone.</p><p>Nothing left behind but cold darkness and a xenovox on the small desk.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He finds Essi at a tavern, for where else does one find a bard?</p><p>She sings and dances and laughs and after that she seats herself at the bar with a man and the most charming smile on her face as she listens to him intently, twirling a lock of long blonde hair around her finger.</p><p>He leaves her to it and decides to retire to his room for the night, despite it being early and despite knowing he'll hardly sleep.</p><p>He hasn't had a good night's sleep since he left Ard Carraigh and he doubts that'll start now.</p><p>So he spends his evening writing to the Service instead. How he's feeling much recovered from the illness that had befallen him a few weeks ago, thank you so much for your worry and patience. Also, he's picked up some rumors that he's very happy to share with them in the greatest of detail. Is there any place where they'd prefer he go after this?</p><p>The rest of the night is spent laying on a thin mattress staring up at the ceiling, lest disappointed eyes haunt him when he closes his eyes.</p><p>He’s not sure how he looks that morning, but judging by the worried look Essi gives him as she slides into the booth with him, it’s not too good.</p><p>"You’ve seen better days,” she says.</p><p>“Yea,” he sighs and lets his shoulders sag. He doesn’t have the energy nor the heart to either argue or tease back.</p><p>“Hey,” Essi says and slips a hand around his bicep in a comforting squeeze, “you’ll be fine.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn't reply. Doesn't truly find the words for it, because he <em>knows</em> he's doing the right thing.</p><p>He just hadn't expected it to hurt this much.</p><p>"So," Essi drawls after they've finished their breakfasts in relative silence, her tone soft and curious, "what brings you here? Business or pleasure?"</p><p>"Neither," Jaskier sighs and makes a face as he stares into his empty bowl. "Although it's not business for sure."</p><p>"Business not going well?" Essi asks with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>"No, no business is all fine." Jaskier waves a hand in the air and hopes those words are enough to put Essi's worries at ease. He's still with the Service and, for as far as he knows, treason is not on the menu as of yet. "I'll be heading out soon because of it. Have an invitation for a banquet in Maribor in a month’s time, promises to be quite the spectacle."</p><p>Essi hums. "And you're here and not on your way because?"</p><p>"Because I need to ask you for another favor."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He leaves town the next morning with Essi's side of the xenovox pair in his pocket and a warning to stay out of her hair for a considerable amount of time.</p><p>He rides into the direction of Maribor, where there is indeed a banquet to attend. A very prominent one at that, with many of the nobility attending rumored to not look unkindly on Nilfgaard. Jaskier knows exactly what that means, and he would be lying if he wasn't itching at this opportunity to gather information to pass on to the Service.</p><p>Both to support the purpose, to fight back against Nilfgaard, and to defend himself and get rid of any suspicions now resting on his person after his few-week excursion.</p><p>The only downside is that it's a month's travel and cold nights spent by a small fire in a dark forest are terribly lonely.</p><p>He misses Ciri, and he isn't too proud to admit it.</p><p>So he gets the xenovox out and, after running a finger over it nervously, speaks.</p><p>"Hey cub, are you listening?" he starts, hoping that Ciri's understood his silent message leaving part of the xenovox pair behind and is keeping it close. "I finally found Essi and got the second part of the xenovox, we can chat as often as you want now! You must already be high up in the mountains. How is the cold treating you? Hope they have many blankets to keep you warm. I won't take too much of your time today. It's getting late, isn't it? Sweet dreams, my darling."</p><p>No reply comes and he assumes that perhaps he's just caught her at a bad time.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He tries again the next morning, the next afternoon, the next evening and then when no reply comes the day after that.</p><p>It becomes a ritual as he travels to Maribor.</p><p>He will talk and talk and talk. Telling Ciri about his day, things he's seen, people he's met and on one occasion a little bird he found stuck in a bush that he'd freed. He will sing new songs he's composing, wondering how much snow she must have where she is while he's traveling south and into a slightly warmer climate.</p><p>But he tells it all to nothing but silence.</p><p>They're probably too busy catching up with the other Witchers, training and exploring the old castle to listen, he tells himself.</p><p>Yes, that must be it.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>He makes a beeline for the bakery the moment he enters Maribor, where he’s met with the round, smiling face of Magda.</p><p>He knows her from when he was still free and generous with his feelings and she was not yet married.</p><p>"Still beautiful as ever," he tells her with a smile and, when she rounds the little counter, kisses the brunette's cheek in greeting.</p><p>She lowers her head in a slight nod of thanks before she looks up at him again with a somewhat thin smile. "And you look exhausted."</p><p>"It was a long way to come here," he says easily with a wave of his hand. </p><p>Magda raises an eyebrow at his excuse, but doesn't comment. "Here for the banquet then?"</p><p>"Indeed! They requested the best bard on the continent to play," he says with a grin.</p><p>Magda chuckles. "And here you are, in all your modesty. Would you like a cup of tea? I'm due a break anyway." </p><p>"Yes please," Jaskier says with a smile, "I wanted to ask you something anyway."</p><p>"Oh?" Magda raises an amused eyebrow. "And what can a simple baker do for the best bard on the continent?"</p><p>In his pocket, Jaskier's fingers trace over the xenovox. "Keep something safe for him."</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The banquet is, in fact, a bit more than just that.</p><p>It's days of preparation, decorating and organizing and as part of the entertainment, and thus the host's staff, he is expected to be around preparations.</p><p>Which is a <em>perfect</em> chance for Jaskier to get to know the servants and the gossip they freely share, learn the layout of the castle and get himself familiar with the guest list.</p><p>And there is one man in particular Jaskier is quite interested in talking to.</p><p>Coincidentally, it seems the man himself is keen on speaking to Jaskier as well and on the night of the banquet, approaches the bard when he's taking a break after his first set.</p><p>“I’ve seen you play once," the man says in greeting.</p><p>Jaskier turns to look at the man, trying to hide his surprise at being approached. He could be considered handsome, if you're into lithe types with short, black hair. His clothing is expensive, high quality red silk with embroidery so detailed it must've cost a fortune. The best craftsmanship, however, is reserved for the intricate pattern embroidered onto the front of the man's doublet with golden thread that shimmers in the candle light of the banquet hall.</p><p>But Jaskier has no appreciation for it. Finds himself nauseous, instead, looking at it.</p><p>The Nilfgaardian Great Sun.</p><p>He forces a polite smile onto his lips, tilts his head to the side just <em>so</em> and offers: “I’m afraid you have me mistaken for someone else.”</p><p>For it is one thing to talk to this man, this <em>Nilfgaardian</em>, and get information out of him for the Service. It is another thing altogether to be recognized, not as Julian but as Jaskier—the bard of the same White Wolf the Niflgaardian Empire is looking for.</p><p>“No I'm quite sure I'm not mistaken," the man says and waves his hand in the air in a nonchalant movement before extending it to Jaskier. "Baron Kifis var Winneburg.”</p><p>"Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove," Jaskier shakes the man's hand, trying not to flinch.</p><p>This man's people are the reason why <em>of Lettenhove</em> carries no meaning to anyone except for Jaskier's homesick and grief stricken heart. This man's people are the reason why his title isn't really a title anymore. Why Ciri is being hunted, why Jaskier is in this situation in the first place.</p><p>This man, this Nilfgaardian, who either doesn't see or completely ignores Jaskier's pained expression as he grins sheepishly. "Ah, I know. And while you are playing your jigs and romantic ballads here for all of us tonight, I know who you truly are."</p><p>Cold dread creeps through Jaskier at those words and he holds his breath. For once, he won't bait for information. Won't push or ask because it feels like here <em>he</em> is the prey.</p><p>And like a deer being stalked by its predator, he holds silent and waits.</p><p>"Let me tell you," Kifis says, a tad amused and a tad excited as if he's sharing a secret, "it is an <em>honor</em> to finally meet you professor Pankratz."</p><p>
  <em>Professor Panktratz</em>
</p><p>It's a miracle, Jaskier thinks, that he doesn't faint out of sheer fucking relief.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Baron Kifis var Winneburg, it turns out, is quite the fan of poetry and literary discussions and not at all interested or invested in the war his own people are waging.</p><p>By the time the party is finished and the guests head off to their rooms to sleep off their drunkenness, Jaskier will admit to being frustrated.</p><p>He'd accepted this job with the expectation and hope of information about Nilfgaard, intel on their plans or general gossip about the brute force slowly taking over the Northern kingdoms. But everyone—not just Kifis—holds their cards close to their chest and he hasn’t been able to get a single glance at the hand people are ready to play. And while he is flattered at the interest Kifis holds for his published works—for had it been any other situation he surely would have relished in the compliments paid to his person—spending an evening talking about that is not what he set out to achieve here.</p><p>He is trying not to sulk at the brunch the hosts generously organized and keep his eyes and ears open. Not that he expects to get any useful tidbit of information now, with half the guests still sleeping and the other half terribly hung over.</p><p>At least the food is good.</p><p>As brunch is nearing its end and the seat next to Jaskier empties, it is quickly filled with Kifis ready to make small-talk.</p><p>Jaskier smiles politely and humors the man.</p><p>"Sadly, I am departing tomorrow,” Kifis sighs when the entire room has almost emptied, “but I was wondering if tonight I could invite you over to my rooms for some wine and company."</p><p>Ah, Jaskier thinks, there it is.</p><p>It's a request he is not unfamiliar with. A request he's made himself many times, although the situation has always been quite different.</p><p>One thing is for certain, he is not interested in such relations with this man. But even if he hadn’t gotten anything out of Kifis last night, he <em>is</em> still a Nilfgaardian noble. He must know something and, even if he doesn’t, having a, let’s say, intimate connection to the man might come in handy later—blackmail is, after all, only fair during a war.</p><p>So Jaskier leans his head to the side with a coy smile and a heavy heart and accepts the invitation.</p><p>However, as he knocks on the door of Kifis’ room that night, for the first time since joining the Service Jaskier wonders if perhaps he’s in over his head.</p><p>In the back of his mind, he hears Geralt say that joining the Service is by far the stupidest thing he’s ever done and he will never tell the Witcher, but right now he might agree.</p><p>There is, however, no way back or out as Kifis opens the door to let Jaskier in.</p><p>Jaskier knows, though, that no matter how nervous and reluctant he is walking into the man’s room he would not turn away even if he could.</p><p>This opportunity is too good to let slip through his fingers.</p><p>But, much like the evening before, nothing goes as expected.</p><p>There are no lewd remarks, no wandering hands or suggestive comments.</p><p>Kifis merely offers Jaskier some wine and invites him to join him at the hearth for a talk. “I’ve been interested to hear more about the History of Poetry you published a few years ago. Many fascinating theories, but how does one go about collecting all that information? All those cultures, surely you don’t speak all of those languages.”</p><p>And so they sit in comfortable chairs in front of the hearth, sipping wine as Jaskier goes through the whole journey it had taken him to write the tome that is now standard teaching material at the Academy.</p><p>It’s a fucking farce, is what it is, but deep down Jaskier is terribly relieved.</p><p>“Another wine?” Kifis asks, when Jaskier finishes his second glass of the full red wine they’re drinking.</p><p>He shakes his head with an apologetic smile. “No matter how lovely it is, I should head out early tomorrow so I’m not sure it’s wise.”</p><p>Best to keep his wits about him, he thinks.</p><p>“Please do have another glass. The bottle is open and it’s the last from this year of production. It should be savored and enjoyed. There hasn’t been such a successful year in Toussaint since, although the hope is this upcoming Summer will turn out to be another good one.”</p><p>Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “You are from Toussaint?”</p><p>“No, no,” Kifis shakes his head with a chuckle, “I merely own land there. A winery, in fact. Corvo Bianco, if it means anything to you.”</p><p>“Corvo Bianco? I am impressed!” Jaskier says and doesn’t have to <em>pretend</em> he is surprised and impressed because he <em>is</em>. “How does one get to own one of the best vineyards on the Continent?”</p><p>“Ah Julian,” Kifis tuts, “I like you but I shan’t give away all my secrets.”</p><p>So he’s finally found a question he won’t get an answer to. Not that it matters much how Kifis came in possession of Corvo Bianco. Jaskier knows enough about nobles to assume it’s money, contacts and bribery.</p><p>“Will you move there?” he asks in an attempt to keep the conversation going.</p><p>"Yes," Kifis says and he sounds wistful, “once we've won the war. I already have the proper ownership documentation for it, just have to wait until we've claimed the territory to move in. Now,” Kifis waves a hand in the air and smiles at Jaskier, “you were in the middle of telling me about the Lyrian library and their tricky translations.”</p><p>And like that, the conversation is turned back to poetry.</p><p>As he talks, Jaskier thinks of ways he can either extract more information from the man or extract himself from this conversation.</p><p>That’s when Kifis excuses himself to attend to nature’s calling, as he says it.</p><p>With the Nilfgaardian off to take a piss, Jaskier is quick to get out of his seat. He goes straight to the small desk on which he’s spotted some paperwork collected in a paper folder.</p><p>He slides out some pieces of parchment and scans over them. What he reads, makes his heart stop beating in his chest for a second and he lets out a shuddering breath.</p><p>They’re timelines.</p><p>Not about the war itself, but correspondence between Kifis and someone Jaskier doesn’t know, about a possible date to relocate to Toussaint. He’d need more time to go through them, to see what it means.</p><p>Time, which he does not have.</p><p>Kifis will return any second now and he <em>can’t</em> be caught going through the man’s documents.</p><p>But this kind of information, it could help the Service get a better picture on Nilfgaard’s course if put together with information others surely are sharing. It won’t win the war on itself, but put together with other details they have at headquarters in Oxenfurt it will certainly help.</p><p>So he slips a few papers out of the folder—not too many, can’t make it seem as if something’s missing—folds them carefully and slips them into his pocket.</p><p>He’s back in his chair when the Nilfgaardian returns.</p><p>“You know what,” he tells Kifis, feeling victorious for the first time since arriving in Maribor, “how about another glass of that lovely wine?”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>When Jaskier returns to Magda for the xenovox, it’s been a week.</p><p>He is exhausted beyond reason and would sleep for days if he could. But he is itching to get out of Maribor with the documents he's now got hidden away and he will do that first, and write to the Service second. Sleeping for a considerable amount of time will, unfortunately, have to wait.</p><p>“Someone’s been speaking through it,” Magda says with a small frown when he picks it up.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Magda nods. “I’m… I don’t know much about these things. Seems like magic to me, if I’m honest. But there is a girl, I think. Sounds rather worried about you. Told her you were out, that you’d be back. Hope that’s all right.”</p><p>“That’s fine,” Jaskier promises her and tries to stay calm, tries not to cradle the xenovox to his chest or call out to Ciri straight away now that he knows she might answer him.</p><p>He waits, instead, until the next evening when he’s two towns away from Maribor in another cheap, drafty inn room.</p><p>“Cub?” he asks, soft and hesitant and hopeful that now, perhaps, Ciri might reply.</p><p>“Jaskier!” It only takes a few seconds before Ciri’s voice comes through the xenovox, loud and excited and relieved. “You’re okay!”</p><p>Jaskier resists the urge to cry, because oh how he’s missed her. How deafening her silence had been, how telling of how much she cares about him and how upset she was to have him leave. “All fine, darling. What about you?” he asks and pretends his voice doesn’t crack.</p><p>“You stopped talking,” comes her reply, accusing, although the slight tremble her tone carries speaks of worry.</p><p>Jaskier frowns. “You were listening?”</p><p>“Uh huh.”</p><p>“We both were,” Geralt’s low voice joins in on the conversation.</p><p>Jaskier is grateful for the fact neither two can see his eyes widening. His heart betrays him by skipping a beat at the thought that Geralt was listening, his mind saying that surely this is because the other wanted to hear his voice. Was worried about his safety.</p><p>It’s a dangerous thought, one he shouldn’t have and he covers it up with a joke: “well, don’t expect me to shut up now that I know you’re listening.”</p><p>“I’ll even reply,” Ciri says, “I wasn’t because… I was angry you didn’t come with us. But now I know that’s selfish. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“All forgiven,” Jaskier promises her, for he understands her anger. Her disappointment. “I truly would’ve come with you if I could.”</p><p>“Now you’ll just have to tell me stories instead! What were you doing this week?”</p><p>Jaskier grins and goes into re-telling his time in Maribor and the banquet. The non-spy and child-friendly parts of it, anyway.</p><p>Later that evening, when Ciri has gone to bed it’s Geralt’s voice that comes through the xenovox to ask: “What happened?”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. “No need to ask,” he says, thinking back to Geralt’s obvious disagreement about his work for the Service, “I know you don’t approve.”</p><p>“That’s not,” Geralt replies, breaking off with a harsh sigh of his own that usually indicates he’s trying to put the right words together, “you’re putting yourself in danger.”</p><p>“I did that when I traveled with you as well.”</p><p>“But then I was there,” Geralt argues back with frustrated words spoken in an annoyed voice.</p><p>There are more implications to that one statement than Jaskier has the emotional energy to deal with right now.</p><p>For on the one hand, Geralt could be saying Jaskier isn’t competent and can’t defend himself on his own. But deep down, he knows that’s not true. Geralt had thanked him for taking care of Ciri, told him he’d done a good job. The Witcher <em>knows</em> Jaskier can take care of himself.</p><p>He just, apparently, worries terribly when he is not around and wishes for Jaskier’s safety.</p><p>Is that friendship, he wonders, and ignores the soft, gentle and coaxing voice at the back of his mind that wonders if perhaps it’s <em>more</em>.</p><p>In the end, he can only stare at the candle in his room and try to ignore the feelings storming inside of him. “It’s war, Geralt. No-one is truly safe.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The conversations continue day after day.</p><p>Jaskier will tell Ciri about his day and she, in turn, will tell him about hers. He hears all about Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel and Coën and Jaskier is absolutely delighted there’s a goat named <em>Lil’ Bleater</em>. He learns about her training, about Kaer Morhen and the more he hears the more he wishes he could be there with her.</p><p>And every night, when Ciri retires it is Geralt that picks up the xenovox.</p><p>Jaskier is surprised, to say the least and at first, the conversations with Geralt are like pulling teeth.</p><p>Geralt was never quite the communicator and Jaskier is reluctant to share too much, afraid of getting too invested and getting hurt again—although truth be told, it’s way too late for that and he should just stop lying to himself.</p><p>But it’s not easy, not getting invested while it’s obvious that Geralt is making such a tremendous effort to mend what he’s broken.</p><p>“Why did you do it?” Geralt asks one night, curious instead of judging but a hint of desperation to the question as well, “why did you join the Service?”</p><p>It is, Jaskier thinks, a desperation to understand why one would willingly join a path that so obviously leads to violence. He’s not surprised Geralt is asking, has considered telling the other over the last few days as their conversations grow more familiar and more intimate.</p><p>Resembling, somehow, what they used to have only laced with something deeper.</p><p>“They destroyed Lettenhove,” he says and has to close his eyes, his voice a shaky whisper. "Killed my sister.”</p><p>It's like he's there again, in Lettenhove watching the town destroyed in front of his very eyes. But now, while there is still the whisper of grief—for there will <em>always</em> be that whisper of grief, of loss—there is anger burning in his gut.</p><p>He <em>will</em> protect others and he <em>will</em> make Nilfgaard pay.</p><p>"And you'd walk straight back into war after that?" </p><p>Jaskier scowls. "Ask Ciri to teach you some fucking tact," he hisses at Geralt, "I just told you I lost my hometown and my sister. Why are you such an asshole?"</p><p>"I'm— I worry," Geralt admits, his voice so soft Jaskier needs to strain to hear it. "I'm sorry."</p><p>Jaskier is not sure if Geralt is sorry for his loss, or sorry for what he's said.</p><p>Probably both.</p><p>And they're not <em>many</em> words, but coming from Geralt Jaskier knows they mean a lot. Knows the other is trying to say so much using so little. Knows that the other doesn't know how to deal with worry, how to deal with grief but the fact remains that Geralt <em>is</em> worried about him.</p><p>Which is strangely comforting.</p><p>"Geralt," he sighs, "I can take care of myself."</p><p>A hum is his only reply.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>After that night, it’s as if some sort of dam that’s been holding them both back has been broken.</p><p>They talk every night, even on the ones when Jaskier only returns to his rooms at dawn after singing, drinking and charming information out of peasants, merchants and soldiers alike.</p><p>The talks, he finds, are quickly becoming an anchor, a hide-away from the worrisome rumors he uncovers and the dreadful turn this war seems to be taking. With Nilfgaard having invaded Lyria now, at least he is on the good side of the Mahakam mountains. But it leaves an unease in his gut and a small flicker of terror in his mind all the same.</p><p>And so talking to Geralt helps him forget it all.</p><p>Helps him focus on good memories of the past and homely stories about life at Kaer Morhen.</p><p>“I appreciate our talks too,” Geralt admits one night. “It was quiet, after you left.” He sounds awkward as he says it.</p><p>Jaskier smiles fondly. “You are allowed to miss your friends,” he offers, for if anything their friendship has been rekindled.</p><p>“I’m not sure if it was a friend I missed,” Geralt whispers, vulnerable and unsure, “but I missed <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes, “what are you saying?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Geralt says.</p><p>It doesn’t matter, though, that Geralt doesn’t know.</p><p>Because burning bright in Jaskier’s chest is a hope that finally, <em>finally</em> might not be in vain.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“I know what I was saying.”</p><p>It’s one of the few nights that Jaskier’s camping out in the open, currently between towns and unable to have made the trip in one day. His shocked gasp the only noise in the small alcove he’s calling home for the night. “Geralt.”</p><p>“I was terrified, of what you made me feel,” Geralt struggles through his words, “make me feel.”</p><p>“What is that, Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice is a whisper, raw and shaky and he hopes and hopes and <em>hopes</em>.</p><p>“I can’t,” Geralt hesitates, “you won’t—”</p><p>Jaskier laughs.</p><p>It’s not a polite or romantic thing to do, but the situation is just so <em>ludicrous</em> that he can’t help himself. Two decades. <em>Melitele</em>, two decades and this Witcher thinks he couldn’t return his feelings!</p><p>“You think,” he asks after a moment and his voice is filled with amusement, delight and so much fondness he’s afraid his heart will burst right out of his chest, “I’d follow a man around for over two decades for anything other than love, you daft Witcher?”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“I want… where are you, Jask?” Geralt asks.</p><p>No.</p><p><em>Pleads</em>.</p><p>It breaks Jaskier’s heart to reply: “after the war, Geralt. After the war.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Stay the year in the Keep.” There is an urgency to Jaskier’s voice as he makes his demand—for a question, it is not.</p><p>“What?” Geralt's voice is a similar suspicious demand.</p><p>“All of you. Please," Jaksier pleads, his voice a whisper as he sits close to the fire in the small hearth in his room. He'd rather not have this conversation here, for Brugge is hardly a safe city at the moment and there are more Nilfgaardians than in any other place he's been before. But that in itself is enough reason for him to have this conversation. To make sure that Geralt and Ciri and all others in Kaer Morhen who he hasn't met but already holds dear are <em>safe</em>. "Please, Geralt. Just this once. Just this year.”</p><p>“What’s happening, Jaskier?” Geralt asks, tired and frustrated.</p><p>“War,” Jaskier says. His standard answer.</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces. “Everywhere south of Brugge. For now, it'll only get worse.”</p><p>There is a pause. “Come to Kaer Morhen.”</p><p>“Geralt," Jaskier sighs, a warning and all the answer he will give. He can't and won't leave now. Not when his role is becoming vital, when he catches news of the Nilfgaardian army traveling or can warn villages he passes about oncoming battles. </p><p>“Are you safe?”</p><p>Jaskier's heart aches at the worry in Geralt's voice. “Mostly,” he mumbles and wishes he could offer a better answer. “A spy isn’t worth anything on the battlefield itself.”</p><p>He doesn’t mention that two towns over, the sky is orange from fire and thick with smoke.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t said it before,” he whispers one night. “Not in words, but I want you to hear.”</p><p>“No,” Geralt says, his voice tense he clearly knows what Jaskier wants to tell him. “No, tell me to my face,” he bites out the harsh order, his words shaking.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier pleads.</p><p>“After the war you said,” Geralt grits.</p><p>Jaskier closes his eyes. He knows what he said, but every day the war comes closer and closer and above all, he doesn’t want Geralt to <em>not</em> have heard the words any longer.</p><p>Not when there is a chance there might not be an <em>after the war</em>.</p><p>And so he says the words that have been blooming in his chest for so long.</p><p>Says them soft and fond with a trembling voice and a heart ready to burst.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Jaskier?” There’s a tremble to Geralt’s voice.</p><p><em>Fear</em>.</p><p>“Jaskier, answer me! Please…”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt?”</p><p>By the time Jaskier’s shaky voice comes through the xenovox again, it’s been two weeks since they last spoke.</p><p>Two weeks which consisted not of spying but of running, <em>fleeing</em> and in the end he’d still ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time because who would tell the bard turned spy that the Northern kingdoms are planning their last stand right where he is staying?</p><p>No-one, that’s who.</p><p>By the time he realized what was happening he had no chance of getting out of Brenna before the battle between the combined forces of Temeria and Redania against Nilfgaard commenced.</p><p>Now, he finds himself standing on the banks of the Chotla river, his back to the carnage of what was the battlefield mere hours ago.</p><p>Still in shock.</p><p>All he wants now is to see Geralt and Ciri again. To hold them in his arms and never let them go.</p><p>“Jaskier!”</p><p>“Jask!”</p><p>Geralt and Ciri’s cries of his name almost knocks the breath out of him.</p><p>Oh, <em>oh</em> how he’s missed them and now finally he dares to think of their reunion.</p><p>“We did it,” Jaskier whispers, tears burning in his eyes.</p><p>“The war?” Geralt asks, sounding breathless.</p><p>“It’s over,” Jaskier breathes and that’s all it takes for him to fall down to the ground. His knees hit the soft grass as he lets out a relieved sob. “It’s finally over.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>It’s Spring and for the first time in four years, Jaskier feels that he can truly appreciate it again.</p><p>The snow melting under the soft sun that is chasing away the cold grasp of Winter. The blooming of bright and colorful flowers, the re-awakening of trees and their leaves adorning the canopy in green once again. But it’s more than nature awakening. It’s villages coming to life, as if the Continent can finally live again after the cold darkness of Winter.</p><p>Spring feels like a new beginning.</p><p>Especially now.</p><p>He’s been at the cabin a week, enjoying the start of Spring.</p><p>The cabin, tucked away in the Rivian countryside, was apparently Eskel’s payment for a contract he took many years ago in the region.</p><p>Jaskier still finds it hilarious that it’s Eskel that owns property in Rivia. When he’d said as much, Eskel had chuckled.</p><p>“Why do you think I took the contract?”</p><p>Jaskier had laughed at that. truly and loudly laughed and then, he’d cried. For it was the first time in two long years he’d felt true joy. Not only that, the reason why Eskel had told him about the cabin was because it would be a good place to meet.</p><p>A reunion.</p><p>They’re due to arrive any day now and Jaskier grows more impatient by the hour.</p><p>Then, one afternoon as he’s decided to weed out what was once a vegetable patch, he hears the distant echo of a galloping horse.</p><p>For a moment, panic clenches in his chest and forces the breath out of his lungs, his fingers stretching to the dagger in his boot.</p><p>But then, from between the trees he sees a horse, it’s rider’s blonde hair flying on the wind behind her.</p><p>“Jaskier!”</p><p>“Cub,” he breathes and scrambles up, running as fast as his feet can carry him.</p><p>Ciri—and <em>oh</em> how she’s grown!—slides off her horse and runs the few steps it takes her to reach Jaskier.</p><p>They collide with speed, but neither cares as they fall into an embrace.</p><p>“Ciri, cub,” Jaskier murmurs hoarsely as he tucks her against his chest, a hand cupping the back of her head as her hands dig into his back, “oh my darling.”</p><p>“I missed you,” Ciri sobs.</p><p>“I missed you too, but I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere,” Jaskier promises.</p><p>When they part from their embrace, they’re not alone anymore.</p><p>Dismounting their horses are two men who Jaskier assumes are Eskel and Lambert. And with them, still seated on Roach, her reigns clenched in his hands and eyes on Jaskier and Jaskier only, is Geralt.</p><p>Jaskier feels the world falling away around him as their eyes cath.</p><p>He barely registers Eskel waving for Ciri to join Lambert and him to the cabin, telling her: “Cub, come on give these two a moment.”</p><p>Or lambert joking that “even I’d say they’ve deserved it!”</p><p>All he really registers is Geralt, Geralt, <em>Geralt</em>.</p><p>It’s as if the past two decades of feelings come crashing down upon him. It’s elating, it’s too much and too little and seeing Geralt now—now that he knows the man returns his feelings—he’s completely overwhelmed. He wants to cry, he wants to laugh, he wants to hold Geralt close and never let him go again and he wants, wants, <em>wants</em> so much he’s frozen.</p><p>But then Geralt murmurs his name. dismounts Roach and before Jaskier can blink the Witcher is in his space, has calloused palms against Jaskier’s cheeks and presses their lips together in a desperate kiss.</p><p>For all that Jaskier had imagined both their reunion and their first kiss, this isn’t it.</p><p>This is not romantic, nor heated.</p><p>It is desperation as their lips slide against each other, it is both relief and disbelief at fingers digging into cheeks, into shoulders—trembling touches to ensure this is true, it is real.</p><p>It is all-consuming fire that could burn down the Continent.</p><p>For finally, <em>finally</em> they are allowed to be happy.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>They stay at the cabin for a few days all together. The cabin is completely cramped with three Witchers, a bard and a teenage girl. There’s not enough chairs, there certainly aren’t enough beds, but they make it work.</p><p>Lambert is the first to leave, Eskel following a day later leaving Geralt, Ciri and Jaskier behind.</p><p>After the war, it’s a little piece of heaven to Jaskier. Even if the space is too small and they are running out of supplies, he doesn’t want to leave. Doesn’t want to travel, has quite enough of seeing the world for now.</p><p>For a while he’d just like to <em>be</em>.</p><p>But Geralt has his Path, and as much as Jaskier would like to settle he knows it’s not an option.</p><p>Until it is.</p><p>Until they are sitting in front of the hearth one night, Ciri sleeping in the cabin’s only bedroom, and Geralt says: “ You asked me once if Witchers ever retire.”</p><p>Jaskier turns in Geralt’s arms so he can look up at him. “They don’t,” he states matter-of-factly, barely managing to bite back <em>unfortunately</em>.</p><p>“What if they were to perhaps take a break?” Geralt asks, a shimmer in his eyes and fondness and hope in his voice.</p><p>Jaskier gasps and brings a hand up to cup Geralt’s cheek in his palm. “Truly?”</p><p>Geralt leans into the touch, looking more content then Jaskier’s ever seen him. “I think we deserve a break.”</p><p>Jaskier grins, even as he leans in to kiss Geralt he grins because happiness is blooming and exploding in his chest because he can have this.</p><p>He can truly have this.</p><p>“We just have to find a place,” Geralt says as he break apart. “This cabin is too small for the three of us.”</p><p>“Well,” Jaskier says, thinking of the papers he stole from Kifis var Winneburg—of the one piece of parchment he did <em>not</em> hand over to the Service. With bright, happy eyes he takes one of Geralt’s hands in his and squeezes it with a wide grin. “I happen to have come in possession of what’s supposed to be the best winery on the Continent.”</p><p>“A winery?” Geralt asks, raising an amused eyebrow. “How?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs. “It’s a long story.”</p><p>“Tell me,” Geralt asks as he pulls Jaskier close against his side. “We have all the time in the world.”</p><p>And as Jaskier tells about the banquet in Maribor, this time with <em>all</em> the details, his chest feels as warm as the fire in the hearth as he realizes that now they truly do have all the time in the world.</p><p>Because for once, Destiny is kind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And it is done!</p><p>What a journey this has been. Hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I did plotting and writing it &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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